


what's mine is yours to make your own

by soldouthaz



Series: look after you [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing, Belly Bulging, Bottom Louis, Canon Compliant, Cock Warming, Codependency, Come Eating, Coming Untouched, Crying During Sex, Daddy Harry, Daddy Kink, Dom Harry, Dom/sub, Everything is consensual, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Felching, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Harry's Rings, Held Down, I may have forgotten some - Freeform, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Liam and Niall aren't in it that much, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oops, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Pining, Rimming, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slight Verbal Humiliation, Spanking, Subspace, Time Skips, Top Harry, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism, mentions of Louis in panties, soft dom harry, spit, spitting, the three c’s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: sometimes, the closest harry ever feels to home is louis. it's their shared hotel rooms on tour, their shoes toed off in the doorway next to each other, jackets hung on the same post.it's everything he doesn't notice until it's been taken away from him.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: look after you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649332
Comments: 60
Kudos: 606





	what's mine is yours to make your own

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a way to see how many kinks i could fit into a single fic, but then feelings got involved and i promise it's not as angsty as it sounds!! enjoy :)
> 
> if you like this fic, you can reblog it [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/190639671051/whats-mine-is-yours-to-make-your) :)

They’re in Detroit the first time it happens. Or, the first time Harry notices it, anyway. 

He and Louis have always had this connection that none of the others do, some invisible string linking them together that makes it all too easy for Harry to read his emotions like an open book. Not that he needs to, really, because Louis is always honest with him. He doesn’t keep secrets or try to act like he’s okay with something if he isn’t. Harry’s always admired that about him. 

Tonight, however, is a different story. 

Louis is skipping around the stage full of energy as usual, singing his lines and keeping the audience visibly entertained. Harry watches as he cracks jokes with Niall and then mocks Liam’s dance moves in a flurry of movement that has everyone in the crowd taking part in the contagious laughter. 

To anyone else paying attention, Louis seems perfectly normal, if not even happier than usual. To Harry, something seems very wrong. 

It’s not that Louis isn’t allowed to be happy, because Harry wants him to be happy _always_. But the smile on his face, although bright and so wide his cheeks have got to be sore, seems tremendously fake. It’s frustrating, and Harry is stumped. 

Louis catches his eye midway through another forced laugh and Harry holds his gaze, questioning and firm but not too pushy, he hopes. Instead of assuring him, Louis looks away and clears his throat into the mic, introducing the next song. It’s all the affirmation Harry needs. 

He tries to think back over everything that’s happened during the day but nothing stands out as anything that might’ve made him angry. So it’s got something to do with performing then, he decides, because that’s when it started becoming noticeable. 

There’s a real possibility that he’s overthinking things but Harry feels like he knows Louis well enough to spot when he’s putting on a show. He just hopes it’s something that excessive room service and old, low budget movies will fix later. 

He’ll write it off for now, because he hasn’t gotten a chance to speak with him alone all day. They’d gone from the bus to the hotel to soundcheck and back before the show, and there hadn’t been one single time when it was just them. The thought alone makes Harry restless, and then reminds him of how codependent they are. He decides it’s an issue for another time. 

Liam nudges him slightly when he passes over to the other side of the stage, a subtle reminder for him to quit staring at Louis and focus on the rest of the show. 

The lyrics fall from his lips easily but his mind is still elsewhere as he follows behind Liam to the front of their set. Luckily it’s the last song. He isn’t allowed to stand next to Louis technically but he does anyway, shouldering Niall away awkwardly until he’s stood between the two of them. 

Other than a quick sideways glance, Niall lets it slide and they finish the song out that way. Louis tenses up next to him when he tries to touch their pinkies together, and then promptly shies away, pretends to be looking out at the other side of the crowd. If he hadn’t been concerned before, he definitely is now. 

When the last chords fade and Liam thanks the audience for coming out, Harry falls into step behind Louis and doesn’t stop until they get behind the curtain, bodies loose, sweaty and panting but rigid when he catches up to him. 

“Another one down,” Niall quips, rushing past them to get to the exit. 

“That was great,” Liam nods, “I’m headed to the bar for a drink when we get there. You guys coming?” 

Harry goes to shake his head at him but Louis darts out from his space and swings an arm around the back of Niall’s shoulders. He nods enthusiastically with a tight grin. 

“I’m there,” he says. 

Harry frowns. He’s already waited a day to get Louis alone, but he guesses he can wait a few more hours. With a quiet sigh, he lets himself be herded through the backstage maze to the bus and climbs in behind the rest of them. 

Laying his head back on the edge of the sofa, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think about how much he misses Louis even though it hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours since they were alone, not to mention the fact that he’s sitting less than an arm’s length away from him. 

They really are going to have to work on the whole codependent thing. 

+

Signals go off behind Harry’s eyelids a few days later when he hears that Louis’ got a date. 

He’s usually the first one Louis tells everything to, even more so when it’s something regarding his love life. Or his lack thereof, he’d complained to Harry a million times. More than anything else, this proves that it’s something to do with _Harry_ that’s wrong. 

For what, he isn’t sure, but Louis isn’t acting any different around anyone else so that narrows it down enough. 

Niall had asked him about the date halfway through dinner, nonchalant even though Harry’s heart rate picked up significantly and he accidentally dropped his fork onto his plate with a sharp _clang_ that had everyone at the table glancing awkwardly at him. 

Quietly, Louis’d brushed off Niall’s concern and gone back to stuffing his face with chinese food like he hadn’t even heard him. Even as they’d packed up to leave, Harry couldn’t get his mind off of it. 

Louis doesn’t date, is the thing. If he’s going out with someone, it’s most likely to sleep with them. He hasn’t even done _that_ in a long time now, since they’ve been so close. All things considered, he doesn’t think it’s surprising that he’s shocked. 

They’ve just finished eating dinner out with the crew when they step onto the lift, Liam and Niall disappearing into their own rooms for the night. 

“What time is your date?” Harry clips when it’s just them, sticking his foot in Louis’ doorway before he can shut him out. 

They’ve been playing this game lately where they pretend nothing is wrong. So far, Harry hasn’t lost. 

Louis sighs, dropping his arms to his sides and stepping into the room, leaving Harry to do as he pleases. It still stings, a bit. Harry isn’t much used to the new changes in their relationship yet. _Sue me_ , he thinks aggravatedly. 

“I’m supposed to meet him at eight.” 

Glancing sideways at the digital clock, Harry blinks against the bright _7:15_ in the darkness of the room. Louis hadn’t even turned on the lights. He does flip on a lamp by the bed when he reaches it, sitting down on the corner and rubbing his temples. 

“What’s the matter?” Harry asks. 

“Headache,” Louis bites, grinding his teeth together. 

At this point, Harry doesn’t even care. He’s going to push, because Louis has never been able to work these types of things out on his own. That, and Harry’s just tired of him acting like a brat. They’ve never fought for this long. Never fought at all, for the most part. 

“You should probably just stay in then,” Harry tells him, setting their leftovers down on the counter and moving further into Louis’ room like he used to do before all of _this_ started. 

“Why do you do that?” Louis asks, standing, spinning around and pointing an accusatory finger at Harry’s chest, “You always think you know what’s best for me. Quit telling me what to do.” 

Pausing for a second, Harry tries to think of something to say that will move them back into safe territory. Honesty is the best policy, he figures. 

“I’m just trying to help, Lou.” 

“Yeah, well I can take care of myself,” he spits, rifling through his suitcase for other clothes. 

“I know that,” Harry placates him. 

He watches Louis as he curses at his luggage and trots back over to the bed defeatedly, changing into his other trousers in front of Harry without care. When he’s finished, he scoffs to himself and shakes his head, then turns back to face Harry again, his eyes narrowed. 

And then - 

“It’s not like you’re my _boyfriend_ ,” Louis clips. 

Harry’s world sort of comes crashing down around him. He sees Louis move in slow motion, carefully clutching his pants in his hand, mouth twitching like he knows he’s hit a nerve. 

And it stings a bit again, a lot, because he’s right. Harry has no real control over him, never really had any in the first place. They’re friends. 

_Friends_. 

Harry’s beginning to think that’s all they’ll ever be. 

Him and Louis have always had a strong bond that he could never quite put his finger on, but on some levels, Harry thinks, he’s always pictured them as more. 

Neither of them really date or sleep around, and they know more about each other than their own family members do. And when Harry wakes up most days to Louis’ leg swung over his own or a mouthful of his hair in his mouth, he doesn’t think it’s all that bold of him to assume that Louis might feel the same way. 

He’ll happily be his friend if that’s all he can get, but sometimes, late at night when Louis is curled up asleep on his chest with a hand over Harry’s heart, he knows he’s already ruined for anyone else. 

It’s bittersweet because as long as he doesn’t bring it up, Louis lets him pretend. Lets them go on their own kind of dates, smiles when Harry buys him flowers and pretty things, and doesn’t complain when they act overly needy toward each other after they’ve been apart. The sort of things couples do. 

Nodding slowly, Harry smiles ruefully at him and backs away, hands raised, until he gets to the door. He shouldn’t have pushed. 

“You’re right,” he says, “I’m not. You have fun tonight, Louis.” 

It takes everything in him not to turn around and apologize, but he shuts the door firmly anyway even when he sees the beginnings of Louis’ angry tears, and walks back to his own room. 

For years he’s done the chasing. He’d gone after Louis when he was upset, refused to leave even when he screamed and cried and whined about how unfair life was and broke down in his arms. Harry put him back together every time, talked him through it and wiped his tears away and held him all night. 

This time, he’s going to have to come to Harry. It’s a bold proposal even inside of his head, because Louis isn’t one to be vulnerable before anyone else has. He needs that safety net of knowing how someone else feels before expressing his own thoughts, which Harry usually provides for him, but tonight he’s tired. 

He’s exhausted actually, now that he thinks about it. The hand he uses to pull out his key card and let himself into his room moves on autopilot, but doesn’t raise any further than his waist even when he tries. His eyes are bleary from being awake for so long, reduced down to slits as he turns to lock the door. 

Usually he leaves it unlocked until Louis comes in and slides up beside him, but he has a feeling that won’t be happening tonight, anyway. 

Peeling off his clothes on the way to the sink, Harry splashes his face with cold water and winces, brushing his teeth before heading back out to the bed. It’s nothing special just like every other hotel they stay at on tour, but it’s comforting in a way. 

Crisp, cool linen surrounds him and even though it’s scratchy and sterile, it feels a lot like home. Or, as close to home as he can get without Louis. 

The low hum of the air conditioner annoys him more than anything else, but he can’t focus on Louis’ breathing like normal so it’ll have to do. 

Staying away from him is going to be difficult because Harry knows he can’t function properly without him just like Louis can’t without Harry, but he won’t break. This time, if Louis doesn’t come to him first, Harry will just have to accept that there will be some changes. 

He hopes it doesn’t take Louis too long to get over whatever’s bothering him and come apologize because it hasn’t even been ten minutes and he’s already restless, tossing and turning and trying to think of anything else but Louis’ eyes and Louis’ lips and _Louis_. 

+

Things start changing right when Harry begins to think he’s lost Louis forever. 

Small, subtle changes that he misses if he blinks at the wrong time. The way Louis slides closer to him when he’s nervous in a group or staring at Harry when he thinks he doesn’t notice. Everything he would’ve missed had he not been tracking his every move with nervous twitches of his eye when he thinks Louis isn’t looking. 

It escalates from there. 

The subtlety turns into something a bit more obvious, more difficult to ignore. Louis will go pliant underneath his arm when he passes by with a hand on his lower back and he’ll zone out when Harry talks, eyes unfocused but on his lips. 

As exciting as it is, Harry still has no idea what any of it means. A selfish part of him wants to think that this is Louis needing Harry, this is what he’s reduced to without Harry around like he used to be. 

It can’t be too selfish of an epiphany because Harry is feeling the same effects. He’s a shell of the man he usually is without him and it’s frustrating because Louis should _not_ hold this much power of his life. Harry wants that power back. 

And, really, it’s that thought that sets everything into motion. Harry stands a little taller when Louis’ around, speaks a bit more firmly and is more assertive. The others don’t really notice anything, Harry doesn’t think, but Louis definitely does. 

He swallows visibly each time Harry does something like that, shrinks against the harsh background of whatever venue they’re at like he wants to be as small as possible. Harry would stop if Louis was actually scared or something, but it seems like _more_ than that. 

For years, Louis has been this loud, confident creature that fit perfectly into Harry’s more reserved attributes, the loud brashness to his low murmur. They’ve both changed drastically over the years, and now maybe those roles are changing too. 

Harry can tell that his Louis is still there, but there’s something keeping him from being his usual self. If it’s bothering him this much, he can’t even imagine how Louis must be feeling. 

But that’s frustrating, too. Even when he’s trying to make a statement and stand up for himself, Harry can’t help but think of how Louis must be faring. It’s awful, and he hates it, but he can’t swallow it down. 

It sits in the back of his throat, stinging behind his eyes and betraying his stern posture each time Louis avoids his gaze. 

So Harry plans an experiment. Nothing too major, just a small test to see how he’d react if Harry pushed him a bit farther. 

He’s also riding high on false confidence at the moment, because Liam let it slip that Louis hadn’t gone on his date a few days before. Niall nudges him like he wasn’t supposed to say it, but it’d been too late. Harry can’t get the satisfied smile off of his face the rest of the night. 

It’s just enough to prove that Harry still has some influence on him, even if it’s less than he had before. It’s enough to convince him to keep trying. 

They’ve just finished another show and they’ve got the weekend off when he thinks of the plan. Niall will drag them all down to the bar as usual and they’ll drink until they’re stumbling. Harry doesn’t typically drink too often, but tonight he’s going to get very drunk. 

Or, well, _fake_ -drunk. He’ll dump the drinks somewhere when Louis isn’t looking and trip over his own feet to make it more believable, slur his words and focus his eyes elsewhere like his vision is too blurry to concentrate. 

If there’s one thing Louis can’t resist, it’s taking care of an intoxicated Harry. The only reason he knows this is because they used to drink a lot more, and Louis never failed to stay sober when Harry’d been under the influence. Each time, Harry woke up in bed with clean clothes, teeth brushed and body warm, with medicine and water on the bedside table. On the other side of the bed, Louis would run his hands through Harry’s hair until he woke up. 

When Louis thinks he’s had enough, he’ll tuck Harry into bed like always, vulnerable from thinking he won’t remember it tomorrow, and when he slides in beside him he’ll ask him everything he’s been wanting to know.

So, the plan is sort of manipulative and makes Harry feel slightly dirty but it’s all he’s got. If this doesn’t work, he’ll know for sure that Louis truly doesn’t care about him anymore. 

Right now, he’s wedged between Niall and Liam on the drive back to the hotel. Louis is in the front seat typing on his phone, his face illuminated harshly in the darkness of the car. Harry wonders briefly why he doesn’t just turn his brightness down, but then he remembers how much Louis loves attention. 

“For sure, mate,” Niall nods halfheartedly at Liam’s story and then turns to the rest of them, “So, drinks?” 

_Right on cue_ , Harry thinks. 

Liam agrees, and Harry says he’ll go but the final response doesn’t come. 

“Louis?” Niall prompts. 

“I think I’m just going to head to bed. I’m pretty tired,” he yawns, but Harry can tell it’s fake. “Sorry, Ni.” 

Okay, this messes things up a bit. Since when does Louis not go for a drink? 

More than the fact that it throws off his plans, Harry’s concerned. This isn’t much like him at all. 

The car pulls to a stop in front of the hotel like every other night, and Louis is the first one out. He heads inside with his head down, phone clutched to his stomach as if it will protect him from any type of human interaction. 

Harry’s got two options. Either he follows him up there and confronts him about his behavior, or he stays down here and gets very, very drunk. Not the fake kind, from his plan. Neither will achieve much and he should probably go up to his room alone and go to bed, but that feels like admitting defeat. He’s not going to let Louis go this easily. 

“You coming, man?” Liam asks him, already headed to the bar. 

He nods because it’s instinct at this point, and follows closely behind him and Niall across the lobby. They sit on the stools as Niall orders for them. 

For a second he thinks about asking them what’s been wrong with Louis, but that doesn’t seem like a very good idea. They both have a habit of acting like nothing is wrong when he’s upset, and Harry isn’t sure if that’s because they already know and they’re not supposed to tell him, or if they just think Louis is a brat and he’ll get over it soon enough. 

“Here ya go,” Niall slides the drinks down to them theatrically, giggling at his movements before taking a large swig of his own. 

Harry drinks and talks and then drinks some more while he catches up with them. And then, after that, he drinks even _more_. So much that he actually does begin to go unsteady when he stands from the stool, clutching onto Liam’s arm and throwing his head back with laughter at nothing. 

He seems to be even farther gone than they are, which says a lot because they drink ten times more than Harry does. He guesses they’re okay because they know how to hold their liquor better, whereas he’s always been a lightweight. Louis used to love that about him, said it was cute when he stumbled and stuttered through his words. 

_Louis_. Oops. Harry shouldn’t have thought about him again. 

Within the minutes that follow, Harry has asked for a copy of Louis’ key from the front desk, taken the lift up to their floor, and is currently knocking very loudly beside the room number. 

And he’s so _angry_. And sad, and confused, but mostly just angry. How dare Louis leave him like this? They were so good together. But maybe Harry’s only proving his point. They aren’t a couple, they aren’t anything now. Not even friends. 

His bottom lip wobbles at the thought and he moves to go back to his own room, but Louis cracks the door open just before he can. 

“Harry?” 

That’s all it takes for his mouth to start working again, pointing his finger at Louis’ chest and pushing him backward into his room, kicking the door shut behind him. 

“This is so unfair, Louis. This is - do you have any idea what you’re doing to me? You think you can just tell me to fuck off after everything we’ve been through?” 

He’s yelling, and he knows that, but he can’t stop. Not even when Louis won’t meet his eyes anymore. 

“It hurts, Lou,” he whines pathetically, crumpling back against the door, “what did I do wrong? Tell me, Louis. Tell me and I’ll fix it.” 

The irony is still swimming somewhere inside of his head, but he can’t reach it right now. It’s telling him that he’s overreacting. He and Louis didn’t _breakup_ , they’re only friends, and they haven’t even talked about things properly yet. 

Sliding to the ground with his head in his hands, Harry pouts. Louis is always dramatic. This time, he wants to be the dramatic one, pointing fingers and yelling nonsensically until his throat hurts, crying fat tears down the side of his cheeks. He doesn’t much care if that’s alright with Louis or not. 

He has to open his eyes again anyway, because he’s getting nauseous with them closed. Leaning his head back against the door, he glances up at Louis, defeated. 

Only a few feet away, he’s standing up but curled in on himself, lip held between his teeth and looking, if Harry still knows him well enough, proper guilty. 

_Good_ , he thinks. Louis _should_ feel guilty for ending their friendship over some little argument that doesn’t even matter. Then again, Harry knows it’s more than that, probably. He chuckles humourlessly. 

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He asks rhetorically, “You’ve been upset with me long before this, you’re just using this as an excuse not to talk to me anymore.” 

He doesn’t specify what _this_ means, doesn’t really care if Louis has any idea what he’s talking about anymore or not, doesn’t have any idea himself anyway. When Louis remains completely silent and doesn’t look up at all, Harry shifts to stand up and leave. Earlier, he’d felt like confronting Louis until he opened up. Now, he’s tired. 

“Fine. If that’s what you really want, here, you can have it.” 

And it’s supposed to be monumental, him reaching for the handle of the door and walking out without sparing another glance, but instead Harry ends up tripping over his own foot again and tumbling into the wall, not even getting the door open fully before it slams shut again. 

Cursing at himself, he pushes Louis off when gentle hands try to coax him over to the bed, feeling like he could cry all over again. 

He’s unsuccessful with that, too, and Louis leads his gangly body over there anyway. 

This is what he’d wanted, isn’t it? This was supposed to be the outcome of Harry’s earlier plan. But if anything, this whole evening, this whole _month_ has proved that he doesn’t know Louis as well as he’d thought. 

It’s obvious, though, in the way that he wipes Harry’s brow with a wet towel and eases his tight jacket off of his shoulders that Louis _does_. He knows Harry like the back of his hand, and it’s frustrating that Harry has just played right into them. 

In trying to get Louis back, he’s lost again. He’s too tired, drunk, and sad to care at the moment. 

He lets Louis clean him up and get him ready for bed slowly while his mind replays all of the nights they’d done this the other way around. Louis pliant in his hands, beautiful and trusting and everything he doesn’t get to have anymore. 

Louis wipes the tears away with everything else and doesn’t say anything. At this point in the night, Harry’s gone through all of the stages of grief. Maybe not in order, but they’d all been there at some point. They’re why he’d come up with the stupid plan in the first place, why he’s laying a mess in Louis’ bed right now. 

The shock and denial of the situation, the pain and sadness that came afterward. The anger and bargaining, wondering why he would do this when he’d thought they’d been so close. The only thing missing is acceptance. 

Louis gets him beneath the covers and flips off the lamp beside the bed. Harry can feel him crawl onto the other side, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders from behind and pressing a kiss into his hair. 

Harry pretends he doesn’t feel Louis’ tears hitting the top of his head and Louis pretends nothing is wrong. He falls asleep like that, clutching Louis’ arm to his chest and face hot from crying, and wonders how he’s ever going to be able to _accept_ any of it when he’s laying in his king-sized hotel bed alone tomorrow. 

+

Just like every other time they find themselves in a place like this, Harry is overwhelmed. The bass that pulses through the speakers on either side of his head thrums between his ear drums and makes his vision shake every few seconds with the volume. Still, it isn’t difficult to spot Louis across the floor. 

He’s got his back turned to Harry, Niall dancing in front of him. They’re talking about something that must be funny because Niall is smirking and Louis’ shoulders shake with laughter, highlighting the small outline of his frame amongst the crowd. 

Harry doesn’t think it matters, he’d probably be able to pick Louis out of any line-up, any environment they’re thrown into. He’s always had some weird connection to him that he can’t push down or ignore even if he tries. 

Right now, Harry’s glad he has it. Despite the people moving around him that try to get in close, Harry navigates around until he’s much closer to his friends and out of their space. Close enough to be able to see the insecure sway of Louis’ hips that most people probably don’t pick up on. The way he isn’t as sure of himself as he should be. 

He’s the kind of beautiful that takes time to appreciate. A scar above his left eyebrow from his childhood and the slightly crooked curve of his nose - the sort of things that somewhere along the way Harry realizes he wouldn’t be _Louis_ without. 

And Harry has been lucky enough to have that time to admire him the way he should be admired. Guiltily, at times, but he still has a running list of all of Louis’ intricacies and subtle quirks that set him apart from every other boring person he’s ever met. Everyone is boring compared to Louis, unfortunately. 

They’ve not talked since Harry went up to his room drunk a few nights prior. He’d thought about apologizing, but Louis never apologizes, so. Harry hopes he feels every minute of his own ignorance. 

Still, he’s getting anxious. He can never go too long without talking to him or hearing his voice, and he hasn’t done either of those in nearly five days now. 

For the next few minutes, he watches from a distance as Niall keeps him occupied. Harry’s happy that Louis has him to depend on when he’s upset, but he’s beginning to get impatient. 

He’s not sure for what, exactly - he can’t just go up to Louis and shake him, grab his shoulders and ask him _what’s the matter? Why aren’t I good enough?_

It sounds even more pathetic inside of his head. 

Before he can decide what he _does_ want to do, though, Niall is walking back to the bar, leaving Louis by himself as people push and shove their way around him and switch dance partners in a drunk haze. 

It still shocks Harry how Louis doesn’t have people all over him at all times. Then again, he’s not surprised with the crowd they’re in now. 

Louis is beautiful. He always has been, always will be, and the thought doesn’t make Harry hesitate as much as it probably should. He’s much too good for the people here. Much too good for _Harry_. Even with the lights low enough to make his vision hazy, he stands out more than anyone else here. 

The change is obvious when Niall walks away. Louis stops the careful back-and-forth of his body, pulls his sleeves down over his hands and loops his arms across his chest protectively. He glances around himself for a few seconds before his chin meets the top of his chest and he scuffs the bottom of his shoe on the dancefloor. 

Without thinking much about it, Harry is walking toward him. 

He’s walking toward Louis with a purpose, fists clenched and determined. Doesn’t even apologize when he shoulders his way past people and pushes them around. 

His hands settle on Louis’ waist at the same time he brings their bodies together, feeling the nervous hitch of his breathing and the tense of his back against Harry’s front. 

“It’s me,” he says into Louis’ ear, thumb moving up and down on his hip. 

For some reason that does it for him, and Louis falls back into him significantly easier than Harry thought he would. 

It’s the closest he’s been to Louis in weeks and it feels amazing. He smells the same way he did a month ago, the same way he always has and it shouldn’t matter except it makes Harry feel like _warm_ and _good_ and _home_. It makes him feel everything he hasn’t since they’ve been upset with each other. 

Nosing down underneath Louis’ ear, there’s a sharp intake of breath and a subtle tilt of his head, just enough to allow Harry even closer. He doesn’t even have time to worry about why Louis isn’t trying to get away because he’s so _happy_. 

When his lips brush against his pulse, Louis actually whimpers. Somehow, over the music and the yelling, Harry manages to hear it. It’d been quiet, small, but it’s everything he needs to know. 

Confident and with Louis’ noises replaying inside of his head, Harry pulls him tighter and moves toward where he saw the restrooms earlier. 

Louis wants him to know. He doesn’t want Harry to have to ask because he doesn’t want to have to explain it. Harry will make him at some point, if this works, but for now he’ll let Louis have what he, hopefully, wants. 

Stumbling backward, Harry sighs when they reach the quiet hallway and relaxes even more when he sees that each of the restrooms are for one person. He pulls Louis into the first one without letting go of him and clicks the lock shut behind them. It’s deafening in the small room, but the noise makes Louis shudder. 

Slowly, with hooded eyes and brows turned inward in concentration, he approaches the counter Louis’ leaned up against. 

The few steps between them feel like miles, but Harry can see the excited glint in his eye, knows him well enough to know that he isn’t mistaken. He’s going to ask anyway. 

“Is this what you want?” 

It’s vague. He knows it’s vague, but Louis needs that bit of surprise to keep going, needs to know that Harry will push him just the right amount. Just enough to take him apart and then put all of his pieces back together better than they were before. 

In some ways that’s what they’ve always done for each other, which makes Harry feel less out of his element or like he’s going to ruin their friendship with what he’s about to do. They know each other so well that it’s actually surprising to him that it’s taken them so long to get to this point. 

Either way, their friendship has been rocky recently so he’s willing to try anything to salvage what’s left of it before Louis decides he doesn’t need Harry at all. 

Now, with his back against the sink and his hands white from gripping the counter so hard, Louis looks like he needs him more than ever. 

He meets Harry’s eyes when he gets up in his space, when his breath is hitting the tops of Louis’ cheekbones. Almost imperceptibly, he nods. 

Harry tuts. 

“Words, love.” 

Louis whimpers again. 

Patiently, Harry noses along the side of his face and presses warm kisses into his skin until he’s ready. Unlike the way he’d felt when Louis’d been talking to Niall, Harry would wait forever for him now. 

Pressed up against him in the bathroom of the club, hot and sweaty but strikingly cool, pumping arousal through his veins and making it difficult to stay still. Louis seems to feel it too, mouth opening around little gasps as he rubs his cheek against the material of Harry’s shirt and brings up a shaky hand to steady himself. 

“I want-” Louis whispers into the cotton, “want you.” 

It’s almost pitiful, the way he says it, but it’s so endearing that Harry has to smile a bit, catching his reflection in the mirror and getting an idea. 

Before that, though - 

“Hey,” he grabs Louis’ chin so they’re eye-to-eye, “you tell me if you need to stop, yeah?” 

Louis still has no idea what he’s got planned but he’s staring up at Harry like he trusts him with his life and it’s exhilarating, so much that the air feels like it’s being vacuumed out of his lungs the longer he looks. 

When he nods again, Harry pulls him away from the counter a bit, rearranging them back to the way they’d been before. 

With his back pressed against his chest, Harry can see the way Louis’ eyes light up when he gets it. His reflection in the mirror must be a shock because his eyes go wide, head tipping back further into Harry. 

He hooks his chin over Louis’ shoulder and makes eye contact in the glass, trailing a hand over his flushed cheeks and dainty shoulders before moving lower, down to his stomach. 

Louis inhales through his nose as his tummy tenses up under the attention, and Harry squeezes his hip because that’s always been a reminder between them - a gesture that says _I’m here, you’re fine_ , without having to open their mouths. 

It works, Louis’ eyes fluttering as he exhales. Harry hopes he remembers that it’s just them, just Louis&Harry. They’re the same boys that have stayed up all night talking about the future and shared their deepest fears and seen each other naked. The same Louis that reassures Harry when he messes something up and the same Harry that strokes his hair and lets Louis vent to him for hours when he’s upset. 

That’s the benefit, Harry thinks. The reason he’s so sure of himself with Louis is because he knows him so well. It’s new and exciting but it’s still Louis, it’s just knowing him in a different way. Harry’s pretty sure it will always be Louis for him. 

The first touch is nerve wracking all the same, because it’s something they can’t recover from. If he touches Louis now, there is no going back, no matter how well he knows him.

So he catches his eye in the mirror one last time, drinks in the way Louis watches him deeply, trustingly, and lets his hand move even lower to his pants, settling on top of where his jeans are tented slightly at the front. 

His reaction is instantaneous, a quick contort of his face and twitch of his hips into Harry’s hand, an overwhelmed gasp falling from his lips. 

Harry feels like he could get drunk on him. Like he already might be, really. He’d skipped out on the drinks in case something like this happened, and he’d noticed Louis had, too. Selfishly, Harry hopes he hadn’t drank anything for the same reason. 

Everything feels surreal around him. It’s too good to be true, the way Louis grabs onto his arm and swallows thickly, presses back into him harder like he’s trying to tell Harry to keep going. 

He does, eventually. For a few minutes he just watches his face in the mirror, applies a careful pressure onto Louis’ cock through his jeans and revels in the reaction. 

Then, without giving him a warning, Harry uses both hands to unbutton and unzip Louis’ trousers, pressing a hand inside. 

Louis falls lax against him, whining and turning his head into the area underneath Harry’s chin like he’s too overwhelmed to keep looking. 

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs, shaking his head so Louis will feel it, “want you to watch, baby.” 

Running two fingers along the length of Louis’ erection, Harry smirks when he whimpers again. Louis glances up again, hesitantly. 

“There you go,” he croons lowly, “good boy.” 

Groaning, Louis bites his lip and leans his head back. 

“See the way we fit together? See how easily I can make you fall apart?” 

Harry has no idea where any of this is coming from, can only blame it on the years of repressed feelings and jealousy that have built up over time. 

He can’t seem to stop, but Louis seems to be enjoying it almost more than he is, his eyes following Harry’s movements when he points things out. 

His own hips have started working back and forth between Harry’s body and the sink, punching up helplessly under his grip. Without even touching him much, the front of his boxers are soiled, wetness covering them and Harry’s hand. 

Harry resists the urge to bring his fingers up to his mouth for a taste. 

“That’s right, baby,” he says when Louis shudders in response to his questions, “Shh, I’ve got you.” 

Louis’ chest is moving up and down noticeably, his heart hammering so hard Harry can feel it in his stomach under his arm. He’s making noises that Harry doesn’t even think he knows he’s making. Breathy, high little whimpers that drive him _insane_. 

His head tosses back and forth on Harry’s shoulder but it’s obvious that he’s making an effort to do what Harry said, eyes catching on their silhouettes when he tries to calm down. He kisses the side of his head in appreciation. 

Spreading his palm out over all of Louis, Harry squeezes hard and then releases, moving up and down the length with more pressure. 

He hasn’t even done much, but Louis is absolutely debauched. Unfocused and pliant, overwhelmed but trying hard to be good. Harry can’t remember why they waited this long. 

They’ve had so many opportunities, had countless sleepovers in the same bed, slow morning showers before anyone else was up, whole hotel rooms to themselves. They’d been incredibly stupid. 

Still, Harry is aware of how rare this sort of thing is. The entire time they’ve been close, Louis hasn’t hooked up with anyone. He doesn’t flaunt his fame to get people into bed and he gets awkward under lots of attention. 

Thank God, really, because as hypocritical as he’s being, Harry is sure that he wouldn’t have been able to handle the sight of him with anyone else. 

This has got to be something he won’t forget, then. Louis trusting him enough to let him see him like this is better than any gift he’s even gotten and he wants to communicate that to him, put all of his love into his actions because he’d scare Louis away if he said any of it out loud now. 

In his arms, Louis flinches when Harry tightens his grip again, mouth falling open when he speeds up his hand so much that the zipper on his trousers clinks each time his wrist flies past it. 

Even more determined now, he reaches his other hand down to hold Louis’ that’s been gripping the counter. 

He links their fingers together and brings them to rest across Louis’ stomach, holding him closer and feeling all of his muscles tense and relax and tense again under Harry’s ministrations. 

“Love seeing you like this,” he breathes. 

Louis frowns as his brows turn in, mouth dropping open further around a breath. 

“I’m so lucky. Gonna take such good care of you.” 

More than anything, he wants Louis to understand how much he wants this. Whatever’s been bothering him so much, he wants to be there to help him figure it out. It’s not a burden and it isn’t annoying like he thinks it is. Harry wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life trying to help him get to the bottom of it - to the bottom of _himself_. 

The sex-haze has him more determined than ever, ironically enough. It sets off a buzz deep in his bones that only calms when he catches Louis’ eye in the mirror. If he can’t get through to him by talking or singing or any sort of normal communication, he’ll get to him like this. He won’t give up on him. 

He can see it when Louis is close. His fingers tighten around Harry’s on his stomach and his face scrunches up like he might start crying, moving his eyes from their reflection and tilting his head up awkwardly to be able to look at Harry’s face. 

Glancing down at him, Harry nearly comes himself. His eyes are glassy, skin flushed and beautifully tan, gaze fixed on Harry’s eyes like he’s all that’s keeping him tethered to the ground. 

Harry kisses him before he can think better of it, sucking on his bottom lip while he flicks his wrist at the end of quick strokes over Louis’ leaking cock, swallows down all of his quiet moans. 

“Come for me, Louis,” he says, pulling back to touch their foreheads together. 

He’d thought maybe it’d take a bit longer for him to actually get there, but Louis surprises him. He convulses against Harry but doesn’t look away, gasping and twitching and coming in his arms like he’d done it a thousand times before. Harry wishes he had. He works him through it until Louis curls away and then some. 

Untwining their fingers, he brings a hand up to move the hair back from Louis’ forehead and clean him up, but Louis pushes it away. He drags his hand down to Harry’s own erection, standing proudly between their bodies and angry at being forgotten. 

“Lou-” he starts, but Louis shakes his head and pushes harder, pressing Harry’s hand down on his cock and watching him with lazy, but interested, eyes. 

Harry gives in, ultimately, gripping himself with a soft sigh at the relief. He could probably get himself off through his jeans but he undoes them anyway, gets a hand on his cock and doesn’t waste any time, stroking fast over his length between their bodies. 

Coming isn’t difficult, either, because Louis doesn’t take his eyes off of him the entire time. It makes his skin feel hot, burning under the attention but getting off on it all the same. 

His foot is still touching Harry’s ankle, his whole body less than a breath away. Louis still has cum on his stomach, staining his shirt while he shakes subtly from the aftershocks and bites his lip. _He_ did that, _he_ made Louis feel that good. 

Harry comes. 

It’s nowhere as graceful as when Louis did it, but he feels the release all the same, muscles relaxing and panting harshly with the force racking through his body. 

Before he can think about doing anything else, Louis is in his space again. He presses up close to Harry’s chest and buries his face again, hands curled between their bodies, uncaring of the cum staining his chest. 

Harry thinks he just wants a hug, but then he’s grabbing his wrist for a second time, running Harry’s fingers through his own cum and looking up at him questioningly. 

And - _oh_. 

Shakily, he moves his hand up to Louis’ face, grabs his chin with his clean hand and uses the other to open up his mouth, sticks fingers covered in his own cum onto Louis’ tongue like it’s a reflex. 

His reaction this time isn’t as dramatic as earlier, but it’s just as lovely. 

Louis sighs contentedly around the digits, laying his head down on Harry’s shoulder and shutting his eyes. When he releases them, Harry feeds him some more, keeps feeding him more until his stomach and hand are practically clean. 

It feels like they’ve entered some sort of alternate dimension where the noise from the music outside has faded away completely, replaced by the ringing in his ears from the release and the sound of Louis sucking gently on his fingers. 

He may be in shock. It’s the only explanation for why he isn’t screaming with elation, really. 

Nothing feels weird, Harry realizes. There’s nothing to suggest that this isn’t something that they do all the time. He thinks that’s a sign that it should keep happening. 

As they come down, Harry tightens his arms around Louis and slips his fingers out of his mouth, tracing the curve of his lips and kissing him one last time while he still can. He sways them to the beat of the song outside as it fades back into their consciousness and strokes a hand through his hair softly. 

“This is what I wanted,” Louis whispers. 

For a second Harry just hums, content to bask in the moment, but then he realizes he’s got no idea what he’s talking about. 

“I was angry with myself because I wanted you - _this_ ,” he corrects, elaborating, “and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I thought it would be better if I just tried to distance myself.”

His subtle correction, changing ‘you’ to ‘this’, hits Harry hard. Louis doesn’t want an _him_ \- just physical intimacy. If that’s all he can get, Harry will take it. For now. 

He kisses Louis’ forehead and hopes that it’s enough to communicate to him everything he can’t say out loud. 

+

After that, Louis won’t leave him alone. He sticks to Harry’s side like he won’t survive if he doesn’t, and for a few days Harry just takes it as it is and enjoys everything he’d been missing out on. 

Pretty soon after that, he realizes that isn’t going to be enough. Louis doesn’t want to be just friends anymore, he’s told him in the days since. He wants _more_. 

And from what Harry’s seen, he wants a ‘more’ that involves higher-level planning than just _going with the flow_. The sort of planning that requires talking about what they like and don’t like, their limits and how to stay safe in the actual process. 

The beginning of their arrangement goes quickly but not smoothly, which he’d been expecting. Louis doesn’t do well with talking about his feelings, if the last month has given him any more proof. Harry sits him down in their hotel room and talks to the top of his head while Louis stares down at the table. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, Louis,” _unless that’s what you want_ , he thinks, “but I have to know these things, okay?” 

Louis grumbles. 

After their rendezvous in the bar, Louis told him quietly later that night while they’d been cuddling that he wouldn’t mind if that sort of thing happened again. Harry thinks he’d still been slightly buzzed or just high off of the adrenaline, because he hardly ever shares that much information, even when it’s just them. 

Harry had scratched his back while he mentioned things out of his wildest dreams, of being held down and being used and giving up control. The specifics had Harry shifting every few minutes so Louis wouldn't get distracted by his obvious excitement and stop talking. 

Harry’s very close to just flipping the light off now, in the middle of the day, if it’ll get Louis to talk to him like that again. 

They’d already made up and forgiven each other about the past few weeks, and although Harry has a bit more to say about it, he feels like it’s best to focus on one topic at a time. All of the layers that go into Louis’ fear of intimacy will require more than one day of talking things out. 

“Please, Louis, c’mon. I want to do this right for you.” 

When that doesn’t get him to talk, he slides out from his chair and moves to stand behind him, kissing the back of Louis’ ear and squeezing his shoulders where they’re tense from having his arms crossed for so long. 

“I want to take care of you,” he whispers hotly, “want to give you what you need.” 

He kisses Louis’ neck wetly. 

“Will you let me do that, baby?” 

The term of endearment slips from his mouth naturally, and Louis falls into it without much thought. He relaxes under Harry’s hands and sighs, nodding. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” 

Louis snaps his eyes up to meet Harry’s like he’s surprised, but licks his lips and sits up straighter anyway. 

“Yes,” he says. 

It isn’t enough, not really. Not _yet_. But they’ll get there. 

Harry’s never done this sort of thing before. With his past lovers he’s typically been the one in charge, but never to the point of inflicting any real pain or dominance other than slight, fun bondage. It hadn’t been a lifestyle, and it hadn’t been the center point for any of his relationships. So, in those terms, he’s not an expert. 

He’s surprised that the thought of it doesn’t scare him more, but figures it’s probably because this is Louis. Louis isn’t weird. He’s probably the most familiar thing in Harry’s life, and if this is what he wants, and Harry’s able to give it to him, he’s going to do it properly. 

“Good boy,” he says, leaving Louis gaping at him as he rounds the table again to take up his original spot. 

He may know a _little_. 

So they make a list on Harry’s phone of everything he might want to try because it’d be awful if the other guys found a written paper, discussing Louis’ limits and safewords and other things that Harry’s only ever heard about in movies and in porn. Somehow, the soft pink of Louis’ cheeks makes everything feel significantly less dirty and a lot more endearing. 

It takes upwards of four hours, and Louis’ nearly asleep again by the end of it, complaining about how his bum hurts from sitting for so long. Harry moves him to his lap for the rest of their discussion. It shuts him up well enough. 

When it’s finished, Harry sends it to Louis so he’ll be able to look at it too whenever he wants. 

“You’ll tell me if you ever want to change anything on it, yeah?” 

Louis nods again. Harry’s about to reprimand him for it, but then he’s talking, shifting around so he can see his face. 

“Are we, uhm,” he swallows, “when are we starting- _this_?” 

_Right now_ is on the tip of his tongue, but Harry ignores it in favor of teasing him for a bit longer. For now he’s just going to enjoy having Louis in his space again. 

“I’m not controlling every aspect of your life, Lou,” Harry pushes his hair back from his forehead and presses a kiss into the still-warm skin. “We’ll start it when it feels right.” 

“Okay,” Louis agrees, curling further into him. 

Harry doesn’t think this will be that weird for them, really. 

They’re always touchy with each other, cuddling, sharing hotel rooms and bathrooms and beds, too many embarrassing inside jokes to count on both hands. He takes care of Louis in a lot of ways, and this is just that. This is just taking care of him in a different way. 

What could possibly go wrong?

+

Harry implements the change slowly over the next two weeks. It gives him time to think things over, plan scenes for them and get to know Louis in a different way than he has before. 

They do the same things now, except Louis kisses him sometimes. They still act normal around the others and in public, but when Louis lets out a snide remark Harry puts a hand on his lower back and all of the snark melts out of him through the touch, eyes softening and small shoulders relaxing underneath his shirt. 

So it’s the same, but different. The Louis-draught taught him some things. 

It’s good, actually, the time they’d spent apart. It’d been necessary for several reasons. 

First of all, Louis realized, hopefully, just how much he needed Harry. For once, the tables were flipped and Harry got to see him get as desperate for his touch as he often is for Louis’. 

Secondly, it hardened Harry’s edges, turning him exactly into what Louis needs. A firm hand or a hard glance from across the room when they’re apart - reminders that Harry is there, that he’s ready whenever Louis may need him. 

Louis laughs when he talks about fate and karma and things like that, but Harry thinks that may be the only explanation for times like these. Times when everything falls perfectly into place like it’d been made to do that, just for them, whatever they may have had to endure in the prelude. 

He hasn’t touched him again, though. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he thinks some of the buildup is necessary. Louis never sleeps around when they’re on tour, but Harry still doesn’t want to be a passing fancy. He isn’t sure what he’d do if Louis ever became tired of him and he’s not willing to take the risk. 

Louis is all about the chase. Or, more specifically, the thrill. When he gets bored, he moves on. Harry doesn’t judge him for it, but it’s something he’s noticed about him over the years. 

With a bang and a high pitched giggle, Louis crashes through the door to the dressing room with a grin, eyes catching on Harry. 

“Louis!” Niall yells distantly, “Give me back my pants, you dolt!” 

Louis squeals and slams the door shut, jumping onto the sofa and laying his head down in Harry’s lap, sliding the banana-printed boxers underneath his stomach subtly. 

Harry runs his fingers through his hair and smiles despite himself, tracing the smile lines on the side of his face while he catches his breath. 

Niall swings open the door again a minute after, a hand on his hip and an eyebrow raised impatiently, head tilted to the side. Louis shrugs, and then he’s getting up to run again and Niall’s chasing him, dogpiling onto the ground to fight for the pants. 

How silly of him to think anything with Louis could ever be boring, Harry thinks, smiling wide and shutting his eyes to the sound of Louis’ happiness. 

+

The next time he touches Louis, the first time after the bar, is fairly vanilla in his opinion. But it’s wonderful nonetheless, and it establishes their dynamic in a way Harry feels like will be representative for him of what is to come. 

They’re lazing around on a Sunday, their day off, and Louis is practically naked. He has been all day, strutting back and forth in the hotel room in only his boxers. He’d started off in one of Harry’s shirts, but he’d lost that after _accidentally_ spilling water all down the front of it. 

_Oops_ , he’d said, smiling coyly and stripping the wet material off of his skin. 

He’s impatient, Harry gets it. But, if he remembers correctly, Louis isn’t the one doing the deciding. He’s got a note in his phone that explicitly states that Louis doesn’t _want_ that responsibility, at least when they’re alone. 

He ignores him for the greater part of the day. Louis keeps it up for a while but he begins to get tired in the afternoon, after none of his teasing gestures seem to be affecting Harry. 

By eight o’clock that night, he’s dozing off to a movie on the television that Harry’d put on to pretend to watch, wrapped up in a blanket with his cold feet touching Harry’s warm thigh. He’s right where he wants him. 

“Louis,” he hums, sliding closer to him to put a hand on his leg. 

“Hmm,” Louis jolts from his half-asleep state to meet Harry’s eyes, yawning and stretching his legs out over Harry’s lap. 

“Wanna make you come,” Harry kisses him, “That okay?” 

“Yes,” Louis nods, shaking off his sleep-haze, “please.” 

Hiding his smile in Louis’ neck, Harry praises him. 

“Good boy.” 

He seems to be wide awake now, eyes cataloging Harry’s every move. He’s slouched back into the cushions and comfortable, and Harry wants him to stay there. 

“Don’t move, m’kay?” 

“Okay,” Louis breathes. 

The first thing he ever mentioned about any of this to Harry is how much he wants to be held down. Harry’s got _so_ many ideas. 

Pressed into the sofa, Harry could make him grind up on his leg to get himself off, or he could blow him with his hands held down next to his hips. He could grind them together until they both make a mess, until Louis’ writhing under him, desperate for release. 

There will be time for all of that later, he figures. For now, he just wants Louis to get acclimated to this. How they fit together, how Harry expects him to be and if this is really what he wants. 

The couch is wide enough that he can lay between the back of it and Louis, so he situates them that way slowly. Louis doesn’t whine at him, just watches with wide eyes and lets himself be rearranged. 

When he’s in the right spot, Harry grabs both of his wrists in one of his hands. Louis does whimper at that, and Harry doesn’t blame him. The sight of both of Louis’ wrists encased in his fingers has him hard in his boxers already, mouth watering at the thought of restraining him. 

Carefully, Harry raises his hand up above Louis’ head to rest on the arm of the sofa, propping up on his elbow while Louis lays flat on his back, blanket pushed down around his knees. His legs part when Harry’s other hand prompts them, widening enough to get a hand on him properly. 

Louis makes a choked noise and pushes into the pressure, but looks apologetic afterward. Harry kisses the downward curve of his brow to soothe him. 

Halfway through their discussion about the things Louis wants, he’d mentioned just how much talking gets to him. He’d even admitted that the talking may be the hottest part of it all, having Harry’s voice in his ear when he comes. 

It’s the biggest compliment, really, because Harry’s never been happy with the way he talks. It’s slow and he never gets things out the right way, like he really means them, but Louis says he loves it. 

The thought has him pulling back somewhat to look into his eyes, his flushed cheeks and heaving chest, all from Harry barely touching him. 

It isn’t just mindless sex, he doesn’t think. It’s not like they’re using each other to get off and then they’re done with it. Part of the reason Harry thinks it’s so exhilarating is because of all of the layers and details that go into the act itself. 

The bottom line is that Louis is beginning to need Harry, just like how Harry’s always needed him. Not in the same way, but just as deeply and all-consuming as it’s felt for all of the years before, sleepless nights next to Louis when he wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel the same. 

Bitter, awful moments that had his heart constricting in his chest at the thought of pushing all of it down and keeping quiet, at never being able to tell him just how much he was wanted - _is_ wanted. 

It gets Harry off nearly as much as everything on their list is going to get Louis off. 

With that, he noses against Louis’ cheek and really begins to touch him, rubbing the outline of his cock through his thin pants with obvious intent. 

“Is this what you wanted, Louis?” 

True to his word, Louis gasps and twists his wrists in Harry’s hold at the sound of his voice. He nods breathlessly. 

“Oh, no, baby,” Harry smirks, “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you completely still, haven’t I? Holding you down like this where you can’t move.” 

He tightens his hold on Louis’ wrists to prove his point, feeling his hips work up into his hand again with a groan. Already, from the excitement or the surprise, Louis seems close, his long neck exposed as he tosses his head backward. 

“Yeah, that’s right, baby,” he says, pressing their foreheads together so Louis will look at him. “Are you getting close for me?” 

“Yes,” Louis winces, trying to swivel his hips. 

Harry swings a leg over his knees to keep him still, further restraining him and making Louis’ eyes roll back in his head. 

He’d gotten a hand around his cock a few minutes ago but he glances down at it now, feeling how much Louis’ leaking down the side of his hand and into his own lap. He’s even more beautiful than he’d been in the club, desperate and vulnerable and ready to be taken care of. Ready for _Harry_ to take care of him. 

His possessiveness is what drives him to go harder, faster, Louis straining hard against everywhere Harry’s got him pinned down. 

“Harry,” Louis moans, trying to find his lips. 

Harry kisses him again but pulls back to keep him on the edge, lowering his voice again. 

“You’re so loud for me, baby. Might have to stuff a gag in your pretty little mouth.” 

He’d planned on saying some other things but he figures he doesn’t need to. Louis takes care of it himself, uses all of his strength to pump up once into Harry’s fist and then he’s coming over both of them and the couch, and even a bit on the floor. 

Harry watches every twitch of his face as he does, the way he fights against the hold he’s got on him and then falls completely lax in his arms, eyes flickering shut. 

It isn’t two minutes after Harry’s gotten a hand on his own aching cock that he’s getting cum all over his hand in his pants, pulling it out to mix it with Louis’ and then feed it to him like last time. 

And it ends much the same way, Louis taking it happily and depending on Harry to get him clean and in bed afterward. Not that Harry minds. 

Later, when they’re going to sleep after a thorough shower and a few more kisses, Harry nudges him underneath the covers. Louis hums as Harry combs through his hair. 

“Was that okay?” 

Harry’s own eyes are closing rapidly, but he stays awake long enough to hear Louis’ answer. 

“Perfect,” Louis whispers, “Thank you.” 

He means to say that Louis doesn’t have to thank him, that the opportunity alone is enough, but instead he curls into the hot skin of Louis’ back and pulls the covers over them and falls asleep before he can. 

+

They take full advantage of any alone time they can get over the next two weeks, sneaking away in dark hallways and single bathrooms, anywhere they can make work. 

Harry feels young all over again. He’s still young now, but he keeps getting thrown back to when they first met, when Louis was a ball of energy and Harry was inevitably drug into all of his pranks and schemes. 

The adrenaline of it all, the way that they’re hiding from everyone else, everything goes straight to his head, and then to his cock. Louis can’t keep his hands off of him but Harry can’t resist him either, even if he’s the one in control. It’s like now that he knows it’s okay his body has been taking full advantage of the permission. Harry got hard last night at a public dinner simply because Louis smiled at him from across the room. A _smile_. 

And then, underneath it all, it’s like Louis is finally realizing that this is okay, this is something he can have without having to sacrifice anything else or being judged for it. That Harry might even be into it as well. 

All of those times he’d been forced to see Louis be romantic with someone else replay in his head, but Louis seems to act totally different around him. Selfishly, Harry loves that. 

He doesn’t complain when Louis says to meet him in the bathroom in the middle of important meetings, and Louis doesn’t complain when Harry teases him for a good few hours before he finally gives in. 

They feed off of each other, almost. The honeymoon phase is sure to wear off at some point, but Harry thinks they’ve got a long while to go before he’s got to worry about that. 

Everything is fantastic, except for the fact Harry still hasn’t gotten a chance to talk to him about his feelings. More specifically, Louis’ innate fear of intimacy outside of sex. 

And now, again, he still doesn’t have the time to worry about it. 

He’s got Louis’ wrists held in his hands, his body trapped between him and the wall of their hotel room. They’d just gotten in from a long night, but Louis is buzzing with nervous energy. 

Squeezing his grip tighter, Harry glances down at him. 

“Always so desperate for me, even when you’ve had me two other times today,” he chuckles, “you’re lucky I don’t mind.” 

Louis smiles but bites his lip to disguise it, blushing toward the ground. 

“You’re just as desperate,” he accuses quietly, teasingly. 

Eyebrows raising in mock surprise, Harry pushes him backward until they reach the sofa, falling back into it easily with Louis underneath him. 

“I think that’s enough from you,” he says, giving Louis’ nipple a harsh pinch over his shirt. 

He arches upwards immediately as Harry smirks, hands still held above his head. 

This is another thing he’s discovered - there are times when Louis wants to be fully immersed in a scene. When he wants Harry to be dominant and harsh and take from him all that he wants to give. 

There are other times though, like right now, when Louis wants to just be playful, to be pushed around and given what he wants but in a way that feels more like a couple. He bants with Harry and smiles even when he’s completely debauched underneath him. 

Both are equally as enjoyable. Most of the time Harry’s so caught up wondering how he got so lucky that he doesn’t much care what they end up doing. He gets lost in the fantasy and doesn’t come out of it until he wakes up the next morning. 

“Harry,” Louis moans prettily, fingers squeezing Harry’s in his grip. 

“What is it, love?” Harry bites at his ear, “what do you need?” 

Bringing a hand down to the bottom of Louis’ back, he pushes Louis’ hips up so that they’re rubbing against his thigh and smiles. 

“You,” he squeaks at the friction, “please.” 

“So polite,” Harry remarks. 

Soon enough, he’s got him rocking upwards at a steady pace, wincing as he gets closer. They still haven’t touched skin-to-skin all that much since the first time, but it’s nice to just get used to him. 

Harry catalogues the way he moves, which facial expressions mean what, the indication of his whimpers and moans. They aren’t hurried right now, so he can take as much time as he wants to appreciate him properly. 

Louis doesn’t know it yet, but Harry’s about to take things up a notch. Next week, when they’ve got more time off, he’s going to really give him what he wants. All the things on his list, the things he’d whispered to Harry the night after the bar. 

It’s even more incentive to enjoy the fairly vanilla times they have together now, because Harry has a feeling everything is going to get a lot more intense, even more than they already are, when he begins implementing those things. 

“Come for me,” he whispers. 

Harry says that every time they’re together, because he always waits for permission. Louis takes his breath away more all the time with his blatant trustworthiness, his ability to be vulnerable only when he’s with Harry. 

So he holds him tightly as his body shakes with small, pleased tremors, kisses his forehead and his eyebrow and settles in behind him after he’s got them situated on the sheets. 

Only when he hears Louis’ quiet snores does he realize the true testament to how much he cares - that he’d been too caught up in Louis that he hadn’t even thought about getting himself off once despite being hard for days. 

+

Everything changes again a few days later. 

Their arrangement is going fantastically. Louis is more emotionally balanced than he’s ever been and Harry can’t get the smile off of his face no matter how hard he tries, and, for once, everything just seems to be coming together for them. 

They’ve been progressing steadily down the list and not one thing has been bad. It’s like Louis stole all of his kinks straight from his head, even if he hadn’t been aware of them yet. 

And the change isn’t necessarily bad, at least Harry doesn’t think so, but it’s definitely going to alter _some_ crucial things. 

It happens on a Tuesday, when they’ve finished with their interviews and they don’t have anywhere to be the rest of the day. 

Louis is giggling and pulling at Harry’s shirt, leading them out of the lift to the hotel room. He’s happy, grinning so wide that it’s contagious, and Harry loves seeing him like this. He’d probably do anything he asked to keep him this way, eyes bright and cheeks rosy with laughter. 

Before he can even get the key out properly Louis is on him, kissing his neck on his tip-toes and mouthing at all of the other skin he can reach. Eventually he gets it, slides the card through the monitor, and then they’re in. 

Usually they’ll talk for a bit before Louis feels like doing anything else, but right now it’s obvious exactly what he’s got planned. All day he’s been clingy, following Harry around and seeking his attention, his approval. Harry thinks it’s adorable. 

Ever since they discussed what they want, it’s like Louis feels so much more comfortable to be able to ask for things and be confident where he used to be insecure. The change had been noticeable and abrupt, but it had been for the better without a doubt. 

This part is normal. The glide of skin on skin and the press of his lips to Louis’ like he’s the only source of oxygen around, like he can’t breathe or function without him. 

Harry sighs into the embrace when they fall backwards onto the bed, Louis’ arms wrapping around his shoulders and his face buried into his neck. 

What isn’t so familiar is the blatant neediness. Louis grabs at him desperately even though he’s already been touching him most of the day, hands fisting up in his shirt while small, impatient whines fall from his lips and into Harry’s. He arches up into Harry like second nature, following his every move with hazy eyes. 

If he’s being honest, Harry hadn’t had anything planned for today the way he usually tries to when they have free time. He’d thought maybe they’d order takeout and watch something on his laptop, joke about rehearsals earlier and regurgitate the latest gossip they’ve both already heard about themselves. 

Instead, he’s got Louis writhing underneath him impatiently. His mind runs through hundreds of things they could do, but they haven’t discussed that sort of thing for today, so he decides to play it safe. 

Louis has never been one to play it safe. He should have known. 

Sitting back on his knees, Harry lets the carefree smile slip off of his face and narrows his eyes down at Louis, who seems to sense the change in atmosphere. He goes still almost immediately on the sheets, bottom lip caught between his teeth in anticipation. 

Between his legs, Harry has the perfect view of his body. His flushed face and mussed hair, the tilt of his neck and soft coloring of his nipples, the easy glide of his torso down into his pants. He’d lost his shirt somewhere on the way over to the bed, when Harry hadn’t been paying attention. 

Despite being in awe, he relaxes his features as he stares down into Louis’ eyes lazily, crossing his arms so the muscles there tense, Louis’ gaze running the length of them before returning to his face. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Harry tuts at him with a tilt of his head. 

He asks this question partially rhetorically but also to get an idea of how Louis’ feeling tonight. Communication, even if it’s disguised as part of their act, is the most important thing as far as Harry’s concerned. 

Louis just glances up at him unsurely, throwing up a shoulder and murmuring, “I don’t know,” so quietly Harry has to strain to hear it. 

So Louis wants him to decide, then. He reaches down and runs a finger over the side of his face as he thinks over his options. 

“Let’s see,” he leans down until they’re breathing the same air again, nudging Louis’ nose with his own and stealing a kiss. “I could hold you down and make you come in your pants, or make you get yourself off without your hands. You’d be so embarrassed, love, rutting down into the sheets like you’re gagging for it.”

Louis whines, pants and pushes his chest out toward Harry, but it’s not as much as he wants. Harry thinks harder. 

“But you need more than that, don’t you? You need me to push you around a little, make it hurt, yeah?” 

He must be on the right path because the longer he whispers in his ear, the harder Louis is against his thigh. Harry smirks. 

“Maybe I’ll let you come with my hand around your throat. Tell you how filthy you look when you’re being so good for me.” 

His voice has dropped significantly, crooning down to Louis and making the things he’s saying sound even dirtier than they already do. It’s perfect that Louis gets off on these ideas, because Harry plans to execute each and every one. 

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly and rucking his hips up once into Harry like he can’t help it, Louis keens and grabs for Harry’s hand on the bed. Almost there, he decides. 

“Or maybe,” he draws in a long breath and exhales over Louis’ skin purposely, making him shiver, “maybe I’ll put you over my knee like you’ve been begging me to all day and spank you until you’re crying.” 

That does it. 

Louis cries out underneath him as an answer, a quick, loud sob that rips out of his chest without pretense, raw and going straight to Harry’s dick. 

Without wasting any more time, he’s rearranging them. It doesn’t take much, really. 

Harry sheds his shirt because he’s noticed that Louis seems more comfortable when he can feel skin on skin, and sits on the edge of the bed. He glances back at Louis with an unimpressed glare, and fights the smile off his lips when he sees him scramble forward to place himself across Harry’s lap. 

He’s clumsy, arms shaking so badly that he can’t hold himself up, but he goes down easily on top of Harry’s thighs with a firm hand pressed to his lower back. Harry decides they’ll start slowly. 

Louis is naked from the waist up but his trousers are still buttoned tightly, his arse covered in the dark, constricting denim that threatens to burst if he twists too roughly. 

Bringing a hand down to soothe the knots in his back, Harry rubs his shoulder blades and pets a hand through his hair sweetly to calm him before they begin. Right now, Louis is wound up so tightly that he could probably come just from rubbing against Harry’s legs, but he wants him to last a bit longer for this. 

So he takes his time, waits until Louis’ breathing is almost back to normal before moving lower. His hand rubs over the seam of Louis’ jeans, where everything is hot and firm. He presses down harder over where he knows his hole is and revels in the way Louis blanches in his lap, scrambling for purchase. 

Harry’s seen him naked plenty. They’ve showered together and gotten off before, but he’s never been this close with the backside of him. Saliva gathers inside of his mouth with how excited he is, how much he wants to get his hands on it. 

For another minute or two, Harry continues massaging, warming up the area and making sure he’s ready. And then, without warning, his hand comes up and back down again over the left side of Louis’ arse with a resounding _thud_. 

“ _Oh_.” 

It’s quiet in the room, but Harry’s sure that he’d have been able to hear Louis’ moan just as loudly even if there’d been music playing at top volume. 

He shudders when Harry looks down at him, hips freezing and thighs tensing like his body isn’t quite sure how to handle the action. It’s _amazing_. 

“That’s right, baby,” he says slowly, bringing his hand back up and down again. 

This time he does it on the opposite side, stealing a glance at the way, even through the layers, Louis’ arse bounces up and down in an obvious way under the impact. 

He’d planned on waiting a bit longer to remove his jeans, but he’s already too impatient. 

Harry grabs a hold of the waistband of the trousers and helps him shimmy them off without ever moving from his lap, discarding them somewhere to the side and not taking his eyes off him in the process. 

Louis makes no complaints, just puts his burning face onto the arm supporting his weight, and exhales shakily. And just like that, there’s one less layer between them. Harry’s palm itches with urge to bring it down again, to feel the adrenaline kick through his veins. 

Waiting a bit longer, he runs his hand up to Louis’ neck to massage where he’s tense. It works just the same, has him relaxing instead of drawing up, and Harry smiles encouragingly even though Louis can’t see him. 

A single finger runs down the length of Louis’ spine, hits every bone and curve there before he reaches his boxers. He grabs a handful of his arse and squeezes. 

“Would look so good in panties, baby.” 

They haven’t talked about that, either, but Louis still huffs out a low moan and crosses his ankles, an obvious sign that Harry’s still on the right track. 

Yeah, he’s definitely going to order some for him later tonight. For now, he turns his attention back to his task. 

Louis lays there as if presenting to him, like he’s chasing the touch. Harry removes his hand and admires as he waits to see how long it takes for him to react to the absence. 

It’s instantaneous. Louis whines and arches his back further and Harry knows he’s pouting without having to see his face. Just when he sits up to look back at Harry properly, Harry brings his hand down again. 

Louis falls back down, seemingly boneless, and cries out. 

That’d been a bit harder than Harry thought it would be, but he takes it in stride. He hits Louis again over the same spot, alternating between grabbing handfuls of his skin harshly and spanking him even harder. 

One side to the other, he tries to keep everything uniform but Harry can tell that he’s letting his own excitement urge him faster. He can’t stop, but it seems to be overwhelming Louis in the best way so he doesn’t even try. 

He hits him over his boxers two more times before he gets an idea. 

The rings on his hand glint in the light when Harry glances down at them with a raised brow and tightening trousers, clinking the metal together and hearing the sound it makes in the quiet room. On autopilot, he rotates the _H_ and _S_ and switches them around so they’re facing in toward his palm and pulls Louis’ boxers down in one fluid motion. 

Bare skin touching the cool air of the room, Louis gasps but Harry doesn’t waste any time getting back to what he wants. 

This time, everything is more vivid. Where he could feel the way Louis’ arse bounced before, now he can _see_ it, right in front of him. 

The next thing he sees is the contrast of the bright red of his skin with the harsh, white outline of _HS_ on the right cheek. 

Harry nearly comes then and there, but Louis distracts him from it. He sobs again, loudly, clutching the sheets with one hand and reaching for Harry’s free hand with the other. The gesture is startlingly sweet compared to the nature of what they’re doing, but Harry accepts it eagerly. 

He squeezes his fingers around Louis’ smaller ones reassuringly and spanks him again, pausing only for a second now between each one. 

When it seems like Louis might come, he stops completely. Lays his hand against Louis and feels the heat radiating off of him. He’s turned a dark red color, and Harry’s convinced it suits him perfectly. 

Rubbing his thumb over where he’d hit, Harry lets one of his fingers graze his hole, hidden between the thick globes of flesh underneath his hands. 

Choking on his saliva and tears, Louis startles again with a whimper as his chin lifts off the sheets, his leaking cock pressed against Harry’s thigh and twitching every few seconds. If he lasts that long, he’ll probably reward Louis with his mouth after they’re done. 

“You’re being so good for me,” he says, “look so amazing with my handprint and my initials on your arse. Won’t be able to sit down for _days_.” 

It hits another chord, drawing even more sounds from Louis’ bitten lips where he’s got his face hidden in the blanket again. 

Breathing in through his nose, Harry lifts his hand again and goes in for the final round. 

He spanks Louis quickly without giving him any time to calm down between each one, twice on the right and once on the left, and then alternating that until Louis can’t think about where it’s going to be next. 

Gripping him harder, the movement of Harry’s hand goes blurry with the fast pace, Louis’ body moving back and forth with the force. 

He’s reminded of how close he is when he feels Louis rut down on him again, probably painfully because of the denim, but wonderful anyway, he’s sure. Harry takes pity on him, biting his lip. 

“You’re so beautiful, Lou. So good for me,” he breathes, “you can come if you need to.” 

Harry expects him to come. He expects Louis to go breathless or cry or do something Harry’s already seen him do. 

Instead - 

“ _Daddy_ ,” Louis keens, coming hard onto Harry’s thigh and shaking through it. 

Harry’s hand pauses in the air over the fresh handprint he’s just put there, mouth open while Louis practically vibrates on his lap. 

Louis seems to cut himself off before he’s completely done, still leaking cum on himself and the bed as he tries to escape or run away. Harry’s not sure which, but he isn’t about to let him do either. 

“Hey, baby, no” he soothes, “hey, c’mere.” 

He’s sobbing when Harry pulls him into his lap, grabbing onto his arm like a lifeline while the tears run down his face endlessly and down onto Harry’s chest. 

“Louis, look at me.” 

It takes him some time, but Louis does eventually look at him. Sheepishly, embarrassed, his eyes flickering all over the room. Harry hates when he looks like that. Insecure. 

“It’s okay, baby. Everything’s okay.” 

Tightening his arms around Louis’ frame, Harry rocks him back and forth until he’s breathing properly again and strokes his head while he comes down. 

So, it’s not a bad thing really, but it’s going to change the arrangement a bit. They’ll have to make some adjustments, but it’s nothing they can’t handle. 

And Harry gets it, actually. He takes care of Louis when he needs it, is taller and broader than him, and provides stability that he can’t get anywhere else. He understands why Louis would want to call him that, and he understands how lucky he is to have the title. 

He’d even go as far as to say that he gets off on it as well, because even with everything else going on right now, tears and all, he’s achingly hard in his own boxers, knows that Louis can probably feel it beneath him. 

“Do you feel how hard I am, baby?” He tilts Louis’ chin up to meet his eyes, “I promise you it’s alright.” 

Louis’ face goes red again when he does realize it, sniffing with his hips shifting minutely over Harry’s lap in response. He’s still trapped basically, boxers around his thighs because Harry’d been too excited earlier to get them all the way off. 

Kissing his forehead, Harry lifts him gently and lays him down on the bed, sliding them down his legs to put with his trousers. 

“I’ll be right back, yeah?” 

He waits for Louis to nod his understanding before heading to the ensuite, wetting a warm washcloth and grabbing the bottle of hotel lotion from the shower. 

When he comes back, Louis is still curled up on himself. He peeks out from behind his hands when the bed dips under Harry’s weight. 

“Can you turn over for me, little one?” 

They’ll have to talk about this later, about the new names that have slipped out over the past few minutes, but for now Louis isn’t in the right state of mind to discuss it. Harry won’t push him. 

Louis goes easily, laying his face in his arms and refusing to look up. 

Setting the washcloth on the bedside table, Harry picks up the lotion and lathers it in his palms until it’s warm. He spreads his hands over everywhere there’s redness, rubbing gently over the sensitive skin until it cools down. 

Harry doesn’t ask when he needs him to lay on his back again, just grabs his shoulders and motions vaguely, but Louis understands. 

He still doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes. Regardless, he gets choked up again when Harry begins wiping him down, cleaning the cum off of his tummy and chest. Even his neck and collar bones are a bright red from his upset. 

In the time it takes Harry to throw the rag in the bin and change into different pants, Louis is back to hiding. Harry sighs. 

“Lou, baby,” the affectionate nickname that Louis despises slips out at the worst of times, but right now he feels like it’s something he needs to hear. 

And he does, meeting Harry’s eyes helplessly and sobbing the minute it leaves his mouth. 

Pulling the throw off the back of the sofa and grabbing the tissue box on the way over to the bed, he bundles Louis up into it and cradles him to his chest, leaning back against the headboard and helping him blow his nose. He wants to say he understands, but he’ll wait for Louis to get everything out first before they talk. It seems more important. 

Rarely does Louis ever get this upset over anything, so it _has_ to be important to him. More than just a word, probably. Harry’s surprised that it doesn’t throw him off all that much. If anything, it makes him feel more protective of the boy in his arms. 

He dabs at Louis’ face with the tissues and shushes him when he whimpers, pressing wet kisses into the side of his head. 

“It’s alright,” he says. 

Louis doesn’t believe that, not yet. But Harry will prove it to him. When he’d agreed to this he’d been prepared for anything, for much worse than this. 

He thinks there’s an awful lot of worse things than taking care of the man he loves. 

+

In the end, t doesn’t end up changing things as much as he’d thought it would. 

They go back to the usual routines unless Louis specifies otherwise, so it’s not overwhelming for either of them. However, Harry makes sure Louis knows that he doesn’t mind. 

He tells him endlessly the days afterward, explains just how much he’s okay with it and reminds him of why they’re doing this in the first place. If this is something Louis needs, he’ll get it, no questions asked. 

Well, _some_ questions asked, at least. He’d made Louis sit through another awkward conversation about what it meant to him and how Harry can apply it correctly to their personal setup. 

“Will you explain it to me?” He’d asked. 

Louis glared at him from under his thick eyelashes, red already rising high in his cheeks at the mention, at knowing exactly what Harry meant without having to ask. 

Nonetheless, he straightens up and clears his throat, turning his face even further into Harry’s chest on the bed so he won’t have to be as vulnerable. 

“I don’t know where it came from,” he’d whispered, “It’s not something I’ve thought about with other people before. I guess it’s just that I felt safe,” he swallows, “like you’d take care of me.” 

After smirking at the idea of him making Louis feel so good that he hadn’t even been able to think logically, he runs a hand through Louis’ hair and hums, nodding. 

“Okay. Is it something you’d want to do again?” 

Louis isn’t as quick to answer this time, crossing a leg over Harry’s while he plays with the thread on his shirt as a distraction. 

“I think - yeah. I think so.” 

And that’d been that. He’d asked a few more questions and Louis mumbled through all of them and Harry thinks he felt a bit better afterward, even if he didn’t admit it. 

He’d said that he doesn’t want it to be a full-time thing, so he’d agreed to let Harry know when he feels like he needs it and when he just wants to be normal Louis&Harry. 

The excuse he gives for these interrogations is Louis. It’s always for Louis. But sometimes, like right now, Harry feels on edge himself. The weight of what Louis is asking for is more than the other things on his list. To soothe his own nerves, he straightens out every detail possible so that he’ll know what to do when the time comes. 

Underneath that, the excitement is still there. It’s what keeps him from getting too caught up inside of his own head, too distracted from his priorities - Louis. 

Harry gets him off a total of eight times over the next five days, and not once does the word come up again. Harry vows he’ll be ready when it does. 

\+ 

Their newest adventure in Louis’ desires begins simply enough, with Louis laying his head down in Harry’s lap as they watch television. As things usually do with Louis, it escalates relatively quickly from there. 

He inches careful fingertips up Harry’s thigh and he pretends not to notice. He nudges his head where he knows Harry’s cock rests underneath the material. When Harry stays focused on the screen and not him, he whines petulantly and huffs, getting a hand around himself. 

That snaps Harry into action, because Louis knows he isn’t supposed to do that. At least not while they’re under the pretense of this _arrangement_. 

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” 

Harry keeps his eyes glued to the television when he speaks. It gets the desired reaction. 

“No,” Louis whispers, bristling at the tone but keeping his hand still. 

“Then take your hand out of your pants.” 

For a few seconds, everything is still. Louis whines but does nothing else, keeps his hand where it is despite the way he gulps nervously. 

Licking his lips thoughtfully, Harry leans back and tries not to let any sort of emotion show on his face. 

“Get on your knees.” 

It’s that statement that gets Louis moving, practically falling off of the couch and onto the carpet below. The hand that had been in his pants is free now, flailing around and landing on Harry’s thigh to steady himself as he settles, waiting for the next command. 

“Take my cock out,” Harry says, eyes still above Louis’ head. 

Lines like that used to make Harry flush. He’d never have thought he’d say that to someone he was with. But here he is, caught up in the moment and biting the inside of his cheek to keep the prideful smile off of his face at how good Louis’ being. 

He’s come a long way. So has Louis. They’re both entirely different than they’d been a few years prior, but they still fit together so well that Harry has trouble comprehending it sometimes. 

Before he can think too deeply about the sentiment, Louis is done with his task. Harry sits on the sofa with his jeans undone, cock sitting limp where it peeks out from under his boxers. 

“Get me hard.” 

Between one second and the next, when he’s got permission, Louis has his hands on him. He kneels obediently on the floor and stares at Harry’s dick like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. 

It's another thing that would have made the old Harry feel foolish and cocky. Now, it only makes Louis’ job easier. 

Harry is hard in virtually no time under the influence of his hands, careful caresses and slow tugs that make it difficult to stay devoid of any reaction. 

This sort of thing is a bit more risky than the others they’ve done. This time, he isn’t going to give Louis much of anything from his end. No praise, nothing to console his insistent need for validation like he does usually. 

He’ll have to pay close attention to how Louis reacts. It’s probably fine, though, because Louis is hard and leaking against Harry’s leg. Harry trusts him to speak up when he’s uncomfortable. He trusts him always. 

Sparing one long glance down at where Louis is kneeling, waiting for further instruction, Harry sighs. 

Instant gratification is something Louis has long since been accustomed to. In their line of work, everything is served up on a silver platter instantly, all at the snap of their fingers. That won’t be the case tonight. 

And it’s all the more exhilarating to watch because Louis has it the worst of any of them. He’s got to have everything his way, the brat, and at the exact moment he wants it. He’s got no patience. 

Harry can keep up with him most of the time, but this feels like a good moment to put all of that to the test - no rewards, no reactions, just Louis. 

“Open your mouth.” 

Louis does so obscenely, saliva already gathered up at the corners, bashful even though Harry knows he’s capable of much more. 

“Wider,” he says. 

_Now_ Louis’ face turns darker. His jaw drops open further, locking when it’s as big as he can get it. 

Harry feeds his hard cock into Louis’ mouth inch by inch by moving his head with his hands and, surprisingly, Louis doesn’t try to rush him. His own hands disappear behind his back and for a second Harry thinks he’s going to try and touch himself that way, but he doesn’t. Slowly, they clasp together and rest at the bottom of his spine. 

Fighting the smirk away again, he gets all but an inch into his mouth before it reaches the back of his throat. Reaching for a pillow, Harry adjusts it behind his back so he’s comfortable still and then sits back, staring at the TV once again. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Louis’ brows furrow. He begins to move his mouth after a few seconds of silence, assuming Harry wants him to. He does not. 

“Don’t move.” 

Louis goes back to getting as much of Harry in his mouth as possible before he stills again, seemingly understanding what is being asked of him. He takes slow, careful breaths in and out through his nose, tickling the small hairs on Harry’s lower stomach. 

Usually, Harry would be talking to him. Telling him how good he is, how much he’s enjoying himself. And Louis would be squirming, a whimpering mess as he writhes and ruts and lets Harry draw him out. 

But this is a whole different kind of moment. Everything is still. Silent. Harry can hear the air conditioner kick off behind them and the slow drip of the sink that Louis left on when he brushed his teeth this morning. With the noise from the television on mute, Louis seems more aware. 

He’s looking up at Harry all wide eyes as he tries to be still, drooling around Harry’s length lewdly with his hands still clasped behind his back. Louis is always good for him, but Harry’d thought maybe this is where he’d have to draw the line. 

Louis doesn’t know how to be quiet or still or anything of the sort. And Harry loves him either way, but seeing him so calm is another level of trust that makes his heart swell ten sizes bigger inside of his chest. 

So he puts an elbow across the back of the couch and tries to relax, chin tilted upwards. Originally he’d been concerned that he would go soft if they did this and Louis would be discouraged, but now he can’t imagine even considering that. 

The accidental slip of Louis’ warm tongue and the tics of his sore jaw keep his cock _very_ interested. It’s just enough to be a reminder that he’s there, doing everything Harry asks of him. 

After a while, Louis still isn’t complaining. Harry’s got no idea how long it’s been but he guesses maybe thirty or forty minutes by now, judging by the sun setting behind them. 

His eyes are closed but his mouth is still wide open and stuffed full, saliva pooling at the base of Harry’s erection. Neither of them make a move to clean it up. 

When the show he’d been pretending to watch ends, he grabs the remote and flips it off completely, jostling Louis as he follows Harry’s movements, blinking up at him lazily. 

“Off,” Harry murmurs, careful not to use as harsh of a tone as earlier when Louis is spacey. 

With a wet pop, Louis’ winces as Harry falls out of his mouth, pouting at the feeling. Still, he listens attentively when Harry speaks up again. 

“I’m going to come on your face,” he breathes, “do you want that?” 

And so his mouth opens once again even though Harry knows he must be sore, ready for anything he can get. 

Carefully stroking himself off, he admires the way Louis looks. Completely spaced out, tired and overworked even though he’d been still the entire time, and so, so lovely. Harry will tell him so, after this. 

He works faster, hand flying over his cock the closer he gets. He thinks about how good Louis is, how Louis _needs_ this from him, how Louis might finally return his feelings, and he comes. 

Long and hard, and all over his face. Louis’ eyes fall shut upon impact but he reaches for Harry’s cum with his tongue, licking up all he can get and looking to Harry expectantly for the rest. 

Sliding his fingers through all of it, Harry feeds it to Louis quickly before pulling him up and carrying him over to the bed as if he weighs nothing. 

“You’ve been so good for me, Louis. So amazing,” he kisses him, “my perfect boy. Thank you.” 

Louis keens up at him, smiling prettily but still dazed. Harry massages his wrists and his back and his jaw and smiles. 

“Do you want to come for me?” 

Louis nods frantically, as if just now realizing that he’s still rock hard in his trousers. He’s too out of it to answer questions so Harry decides what he’s going to do for him on his own. 

He sits back against the headboard and pulls Louis flush against his chest, cupping his cheek and kissing the back of his head. With his other, Harry reaches down to slip a hand into Louis’ pants, thumbing over the wetness as Louis hisses. 

It’s got to be painful, Harry thinks. The red color of his skin and the sensitivity prove as much, but Harry doesn’t feel bad. Louis being hard for so long means one thing - his orgasm will be that much better. 

Harry’d learned that on himself a while ago, when he’d been experimenting with a few things to see what he liked sexually. 

Now, he thinks back on all of that knowledge and applies it to the restless boy in his lap, lip trembling and eyes squeezed shut from the high. 

He could talk him off the way that Louis loves, but it doesn’t feel right. Louis needs to be very present and in the moment to even register what he’s said and right now he is neither of those things. 

Crossing his own legs over Louis’, he uses them to keep him spread apart so that he’s got easy access to what he needs. This way, Louis can’t curl away from the direct, surprising stimulation the way he keeps trying to. 

Harry focuses on the angry head of Louis’ smaller cock, rubs in tight, hard circles until Louis has tears running down his cheeks and is babbling nonsense. He doesn’t stop until he’s shaking in his arms from the intense release, head turning back and forth helplessly where he’s pressed against Harry’s chest. 

This time, when it’s over, Louis isn’t awkward. He turns into Harry’s chest even more and folds himself as small as he can get. And Harry praises him endlessly, tells him how lovely and wonderful he’s been. 

There are tears, as usual, but they always come out so raw, so emotionally that Harry thinks they’re just from all of the buildup in every other part of their lives finally coming to a head. When they’re alone together, when Harry can take care of him like this, Louis is free to be as vulnerable as he wants. Harry knows that’s always been difficult for him. 

The point is Louis trusts him, and that alone makes him feel like the luckiest man in the world. 

Later, when he gets up to grab a wet towel and get them ready for bed, Louis turns to him on the sheets. 

“Thank you,” he says, voice raspy and barely-there. 

Smiling, Harry runs a gentle hand through his hair and pulls him closer, laying Louis’ head on his chest and adjusting their legs under the sheets. 

“I love you,” Harry tells him. 

He wants to say more than that, about how lucky he feels and how long he’s felt this way and how much he wants to keep doing this for the rest of their lives. 

When he glances down again, Louis is already asleep. 

+

“I’ve got video games,” Niall announces, trotting happily onto the bus. 

He drops a full bag of food and another one of game cases onto the folding table, spreading them out so they can pick. 

Louis glances down at them and tosses one up so he’ll catch it. The newest release of _FIFA_ flies through the air into his hands. 

“Do you even have to ask, Niall?” He says sassily. 

Even Liam gives in after the loading screen comes up, picking up a controller after telling them he wasn’t interested. 

“There you go, Payno,” Niall cheers, slapping him on the back. 

Harry’s never been good at video games _or_ the real thing, too uncoordinated to play the sport properly without offending someone ( _Louis_ ). But he’s content to just sit back and watch because he lights up beside Harry when he’s winning, lip caught between his teeth and brow furrowed determinedly. 

Tossing another Cheeto into his mouth, Harry relaxes against the couch and waits to see who wins. The game goes on for a good fifteen minutes before there is yelling and Niall groans. Harry smirks. 

“Sorry, Nialler,” Louis says, then turns to Harry, “Did you see me win?” 

He’s glancing up with barely contained excitement even though he’s won against Niall a million times before, but it never fails to make Harry’s heart stutter when he looks for his approval. 

“I did,” he confirms, squeezing his leg, “You were amazing.” 

“Oi, don’t stroke his ego, H.” 

Louis tosses a pillow at Niall before moving so he’s underneath Harry’s arm. Snuggling up to him, he grins happily and gives a sweet sigh. 

They haven’t touched each other in nearly a week, but Harry feels closer to him now than when he’d had his hand down his pants the week before. 

+

After six long days full of mundane interviews and repetitive performances, Harry is more than ready for something exciting. Something edgy, possibly _taboo_ , even. More than anything, he wants to be downright filthy with Louis tonight. 

Usually they plan everything out meticulously beforehand, but Louis’d said before that he wouldn’t mind being surprised a bit, thrown out of his element and subjected to whatever Harry wants - when _ever_ he wants it. 

The thought makes him giddy, slightly, licking up the sides of his brain until it's all he can see, his eyes are hooded over, and his jeans tighten significantly in the front at the end of the interview they’re at. 

He looks over to where Louis is sat at the opposite end of the table, catches him mid-joke with his head thrown back and mouth wide from laughing, eyes twinkling under the harsh fluorescent lights. 

He’s gorgeous. His hair is unbrushed from the night before and sticking up in several places. Once he’d heard it was a radio interview, he’d neglected to do much at all but throw on his comfiest pair of pajama pants and one of Harry’s shirts that’d been lying around. Still, he looks rested and happy, and that makes Harry feel incredible. 

It doesn’t change the fact that he wants to throw him down on their hotel room bed, strip him of his clothes, and properly defile him as soon as they get out of here. 

And they could, if the woman on the other side of the counter would stop asking so many questions. She seems perfectly unaware of his desire to leave, even though the rest of the boys are sighing and resting their chins in their palms beside him, just as restless as Harry is. 

“I think that’s everything I’ve got,” she says eventually. 

Within the next few seconds, Harry is already tugging Louis out the door. 

He giggles as he’s yanked easily through the exits and into cars, out again and into lobbies and hotel rooms. Harry isn’t as amused. 

As soon as the door is shut, he’s got Louis cornered. 

“Missed you,” he whispers, nosing at Louis’ neck where he’s trapped between Harry’s body and the wall. 

And - oops. That probably crossed some sort of line. While he’s trying to decide if he cares, Louis smiles prettily and blinks up at him. 

“You were with me all day, Haz,” he laughs. 

Harry thinks it sounds something like _fond_. 

This whole arrangement had been for Louis, but sometimes Harry feels like it’s more for him than anything else. He’s grown to need it just as much in order to be able to function properly. Luckily, Louis doesn’t seem like he cares all that much. 

He turns his head to give Harry more access, breathing heavier with each passing minute. After he’s through leaving evidence of his presence on the skin below his collarbone, Harry stands straight again. 

“Did you not miss me?” Harry pouts. 

It’s condescending, slightly, because Harry knows how Louis gets when he asks him these sorts of questions, can pinpoint exactly what he’s going to do before he does it. 

“H,” he whines, arms reaching up to twine around Harry’s neck, “of course I did. Miss you always.” 

Harry has to lean down to press their lips together even though Louis is on his tip-toes, trying to dampen his pleased smile enough so that their teeth don’t clink together. The longer he kisses him, the more he tries to convey just how much he wants, although he doesn’t think Louis understands. 

He’s too busy panting, chasing Harry’s lips when he parts to breathe and clutching desperately at his shirt even though they haven’t done anything yet. 

In an effort to remedy that, Harry slips a thigh in between Louis’ open legs and presses up, feeling Louis hard against him. He smirks, chin to the top of his head as Louis looks down at where they’re touching. 

When he looks up again, Harry gets an idea. 

Louis’ lips are slick, wet from their kisses and he keeps poking his tongue out over the bottom one. Harry’s not sure if he’s doing it on purpose or not, but it’s amazingly captivating. He bites it quickly and then releases his plump lower lip from between his teeth. When it falls, he drools a bit over his chin and it drips down onto his shirt, _Harry’s_ shirt, leaving an obvious stain on the material. 

Groaning, Harry tilts his head back and looks down at him. He grabs him by the chin and tilts his head back, too. 

“Open,” he says, voice deeper than he remembers. 

Louis obeys him without any specifics, jaw lowering enough so his mouth is on full display, eyes twinkling as he waits for what Harry’s going to do next. 

And it isn’t something he’s ever thought about doing, but it doesn’t take much consideration, the thought making him rut up into Louis harshly when it pops into his brain. 

He leans into Louis like he’s going to kiss him, but stops an inch away from his waiting lips. Grinning filthily, Harry lets the saliva pool inside of his mouth and then, without pretense, he’s spitting into Louis’ mouth. 

That’s all it takes, really. Louis chokes on his surprise but swallows it, keeping his lips apart so Harry can see, and grinds messily down on his thigh, chest heaving. 

He moves fast, quick rotations of his hips like he’s so turned on he can’t stop himself, and Harry pulls one of his legs up onto his hip to help him out. Louis’ head falls backwards and thuds against the wall as his eyes roll back. 

Moaning, Harry realizes he’s got his hand still tightly gripped around Louis’ neck. He lets him go but Louis snaps his eyes open to meet his immediately after. 

“Again,” he breathes, grabbing Harry’s wrist to put it back around his throat and keep his mouth open. 

Because it’s been that way for so long and Harry never said he could shut it, Louis’ got drool running down from both sides of his mouth now, on the back of Harry’s hand and more on his shirt. 

It definitely should _not_ turn them on this much. 

He’s not sure what Louis’ referring to, exactly, whether he wants Harry to keep holding his neck or if he wants him to spit in his mouth again, but he does both, just to be safe. 

Grips him hard by the jaw, sticks two fingers onto his tongue to spread him wide open, and spits. 

Louis comes. 

Completely untouched. Hard, shaking, falling into Harry with a whimper. 

Harry works his hips up into him once, twice, three more times before he comes inside of his own jeans with a shout, hand slapping into the wall beside Louis’ head. 

And that’s - Harry didn’t even _touch_ Louis. They’re both still fully clothed and only about four feet inside of the room, but it’s by far the best orgasm he’s had in _weeks_. 

Louis appears to feel the same, unresponsive except for little noises that fall from his bruised, wet lips and into Harry’s chest sweetly. 

They should shower, probably, there’s cum drying on their clothes and the saliva is drying on Louis’ soft skin, but Harry feels so good he doesn’t want to move yet. 

So he wraps Louis up in a tight hug, sways them backwards and forwards and whispers about how wonderful he is to him, and tries to remember why he’d gone so long without being with Louis in the first place. 

+

Their newest _project_ sounds nearly impossible when they first talk about it, but Harry’s convinced it’s doable. It’d been his idea but Louis had admitted later on that it’s always been a bit of a thing for him. A fascination, really. 

Coming untouched sounds daunting even for Harry, but Louis gets so worked up when they play that it doesn’t seem all that far fetched anymore by the time they actually get around to trying it. After he’d practically come like that after Harry used his mouth, Louis decided he wanted to explore it further. 

Every night this week, they’ve practiced. Harry presses his mouth up to Louis’ ear and talks him off in a thousand different ways, painting lewd pictures inside of his head without touching him at all. 

Louis’ been able to get close each time, but he can’t come from just that. Harry is determined, though, so he’s done some more research. 

The answer had been in front of him the entire time - nipples. 

For years he’s giggled every time the word has come up. The way it rolls off his tongue and the teasing connotation just gets him going, but last night when he’d been deep into the dark corners of the internet looking for answers to questions he couldn’t ask anywhere else, he’d begun to think of them a bit differently. 

Louis has small nipples, subtle little pecs that Harry admires often but has never given too much direct attention to. His entire chest is lovely, really, soft but firm and almost completely hairless. 

They’re the key to this whole thing working. Harry can’t touch anything below his waist if everything goes according to plan, but he figures everything up from the seam of his pants is fair game. Also, he’s ticklish. Smirking outwardly, Harry tries to picture how this will play out inside of his head. 

He walks out to the balcony in time to hear Louis hanging up with his sister, smiling as he tells her he loves her and he’ll see her soon. 

Wrapping his arms around him from behind, he sighs into Louis’ other ear softly. 

“Hey,” Louis says. 

“Hey,” Harry laughs, nosing at the back of his head. 

For the next few minutes he lets himself be caught up once again by the delusion of them being in an actual relationship. Louis’ hands cover his own on his stomach while they sway back and forth, watching the sun go down over the outline of the buildings. 

Then he cuts it off. He can’t afford the heartbreak later on. 

“Want to try something?” He asks instead. 

Everything they do now is under the pretense of being vague, illusive enough to ignite Louis’ interest. Realistically, they talk out all the details hours, days in advance. It’s always the perfect balance of stability and surprise. 

Louis grins and turns around in his hold, nodding enthusiastically. He leads Harry back inside and slides the door shut behind them, pulling the curtain closed over that. 

“Eager, are we?” Harry jokes. 

Offering no denial, Louis jumps backwards onto the bed and bounces once, twice, before settling, glancing up at Harry invitingly. With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, he looks innocent and impure all at once. 

Harry knees up onto the bed a few inches away from where he’s sprawled, sat up on his elbows. He comes to rest between his open legs with a smirk. 

Louis knows what they’re doing, but he’s got no idea what the focus will be tonight. Harry plans to torture his poor nipples until they hurt when his shirt slides against them tomorrow. He wants Louis to think of this moment when they do. 

Bypassing where Louis’ trousers are beginning to tent at the front, Harry presses his lips against the skin of his lower stomach, between the band of his pants and the hem of his shirt where it’s ridden up. 

For years, since Harry met him, Louis’ been insecure about his tummy. He says it’s too big, he’s too curvy and he doesn’t like it. Harry _adores_ it. 

It curves outward just barely, enough that he can grab onto it when he needs him to stay still and enough to feel silky smooth underneath his hands when he does. He likes that Louis isn’t just skin and bones, although he’s pretty sure he’d like Louis no matter _what_ he looked like. 

Glancing up at him innocently, Harry lets his lips fall open slightly, tasting the skin under his tongue. Louis still seems confused and the slightest bit uncomfortable, but he lets Harry keep moving. He looks curious. 

He brings his hands up to the sides of Louis’ hips and sets them just underneath the material of his shirt. Slowly, he moves it up in small increments, his lips following the exposed skin as more of it is revealed. 

Harry bites at his stomach like he’s starved, sucking bruises around his belly button and squeezing the thick shape of his waist appreciatively. The more excited he gets, the more Louis begins to fall apart. 

Halfway up his stomach, he moves his gaze up to see how he’s doing. Louis looks dazed as usual, but also intrigued. He’s fallen back onto the pillows now, but he keeps his eyes lowered so he’s able to see what Harry’s doing to him. 

“So pretty, Louis,” he breathes. 

He uses his name on purpose. _Baby_ and _Darling_ and _Little One_ are all wonderful, but they make him go fuzzy around the edges, push him that much closer to the edge. 

The use of his name does the opposite. It tethers him to the moment, reminds him of where they are and what he’s saying. Harry can tell he understands the meaning there, the unspoken cognizance of the fact that Harry is indirectly telling him _you don’t have to be insecure around me, I think you’re wonderful, you’re safe here_. 

It’s obvious in the way Louis reaches down to grab his hand, locking their fingers with a bashful smile on his lips. There are times when Harry thinks that _not_ talking gets the point across more than explaining every possible detail. 

Louis enjoys the talking, though, so. 

“You’re going to come for me untouched.” Harry tells him. 

He exhales unevenly, nodding. 

“Do you think you can do that for me, love?” 

“Yes, yeah. Want to,” he whines. 

Harry holds him down as he fidgets on the sheets with nervous energy, keeping him still. 

“Shh, love. I’ve got you,” he murmurs. 

He runs a hand down the side of his face which Louis turns into sweetly, before putting it back where his shirt is rucked up on his stomach. Once he feels like he’s given enough special attention to Louis’ tummy, he moves up to what he’s really after. 

Louis’ nipples have been poking through his shirt from the time he’d gotten onto the bed, but he’d been purposely ignoring them until now. Leaving the shirt covering them, Harry moves up so his mouth is hovering above his right one, and smiles at him. 

Then, bending down, he lets his tongue poke out of his mouth again and touch it through the fabric, wetting both the cotton and his skin underneath. With his other hand he runs his thumb back and forth on Louis’ left nipple, pinching lightly. 

Breath catching in his throat, Louis thrashes but can’t keep his eyes off of Harry. He’s sensitive, apparently, and Harry doesn’t know how he’s managed to miss it. 

As soon as it seems like he’s gotten used to it, Harry bites down gently through the shirt, pushing down when Louis arches upwards, chasing him around when he wiggles. 

He licks and bites and sucks on it until both the shirt and Louis are a mess, his spit leaking over his chest in whatever direction he turns his body. Moving to the other one is easy, kissing across the connecting area and then repeating what he’d done earlier. 

“Ngh,” he moans, his hips hitching up desperately, “Harry, please.” 

Most likely Louis has no idea what he’s even asking for. Or he’s forgotten, because he knows Harry isn’t going to touch him properly at all tonight. 

To relieve him somewhat, Harry slides his shirt up and over his outstretched arms, wet enough now that it makes a sopping noise when it hits the ground next to the bed. Louis shivers, groaning. 

“Can’t believe I’ve been missing out on these,” Harry says honestly, “so small and perfect.” 

Since they’d discussed the whole idea of size kink, some of the terminology had made its way into their other scenes. Louis seems to be perfectly okay with it, to be fair. He whines every time Harry reminds him of how much smaller he is than him, of how easy it is to overwhelm him. 

It works both ways, makes Harry’s own cock achingly hard in his boxers when he tries to ignore it for Louis’ benefit. But then - that’s perfect, isn’t it? 

Pausing momentarily in his assault of Louis’ nipples, Harry backs up and lays on his side, pushing his pants down until he can get a careful hand around himself. Louis can’t touch himself, but he can. 

“Louis,” he groans teasingly, playing up his reactions. 

It’s got to be torture watching Harry relieve the same pressure that Louis is feeling now, only he’s unable to. Sucking in a sharp breath, he smiles lazily at Louis and lets his head fall back onto his shoulder. 

“Feels so good. Might come.” 

He won’t, not really. But Louis whines and pushes his chest out again as his bottom lip begins to pout, although he doesn’t try to touch himself at all. _Good boy_ , Harry thinks. 

Allowing himself a few more thorough pulls, his hand drops off of his cock a few moments later, lifting his fingers that are covered in precum to dance across Louis’ chest. 

Without even having to ask him, Louis has put his hands underneath his hips so that he won’t be tempted to use them, quick eyes following the movement of Harry’s arm. He runs his fingertips from one nipple to the other, getting them wet again where they’d gone dry from the cool air in the room. 

Red and heaving, Louis’ chest falls up and down at every light touch. Grinning, Harry moves back into his space. He kisses Louis once on the side of his mouth and watches him chase his touch. When he’s settled into the pillows again, Harry lowers his mouth back down to the right pec and licks up what he’s just lathered there sloppily. 

Shifting up onto his own elbow to get a better angle, he latches onto Louis’ nipple harshly and bites down, drawing loud moans from his mouth as he tosses his head backwards. From the corner of his eye, Harry can see his hips grinding up into nothing. 

He gives one more bite before moving back to the other in quick succession. Keeping him stimulated, he lets his hand flick the other back and forth with enough pressure that it probably hurts. 

It’s getting Harry off almost more than it is Louis, working his hips down onto his thigh even though Louis can’t do the same. The edges of his teeth scrape over some of his most sensitive skin painfully, leaving them red and raw when he pops his mouth off of them. 

Overwhelmed tears gather in the corner of Louis’ eyes at the sensation. His hips move up and down on their own while his eyes clench shut, chasing a release Harry knows is most likely going to be inevitably frustrating. 

Harry pulls back enough to meet his eyes when they flutter open next, pressing their foreheads together and holding his gaze. He lets his hands fly back and forth over his nipples, rubbing them harshly, so fast that his hand goes blurry. 

Louis mewls into his open mouth and grips the sheets on either side of him, swallowing thickly. 

“Think it’s going to work, baby?” 

Glancing down at his erection, he pauses long enough to drag his pants and trousers down in one go before returning his hand to Louis’ nipples. 

“Look at you, darling. So hard for me, so close without even touching yourself.” 

He kisses Louis’ forehead the more he cries, nosing the tears away the best he can. This can’t be easy for him, but he already seems so close to the edge. Louis clenches his eyes shut hard like he’s concentrating, lines forming on his forehead. 

“M’so proud of you, baby. You’re doing so well, so good for me, always.” 

He whispers to him until he’s gasping, moving his hand to grab onto Harry’s wrist where it’s still flying across his chest, rubbing his sore nipples raw. 

“That’s it,” he says, “come now, Louis.” 

Realistically, he hadn’t been expecting Louis to actually come right then. He does, though. Harry holds him as he shakes through it, babbling nonsensically and clutching onto Harry’s arms as his hips undulate helplessly, confused. 

While he’s distracted, Harry ruts down onto his thigh for a few seconds before he’s adding to the mess around Louis’ midsection with a grunt and promptly falling down beside him on the bed. 

Louis keeps his eyes on him the entire time, like the use of his name startled him back into awareness. Brows turned inwards and mouth open around nothing, Harry kisses him all over until he calms with a hand cupping his cheek. 

His orgasm seems to linger even when Harry gets up to fetch a towel for them, his body hot to the touch and muscles still tight, eyes wide as if he’s stuck inside of the feeling. Eventually, after they’re clean, he clears his throat. 

“Alright, love?” Harry asks him. 

Voice cracking, he replies softly, “Yeah,” before sitting up to face him. 

“What is it?” 

He grabs for Louis’ unsteady hands to hold them in his own, staring up at him from his spot on the bed. 

“I’m not tired,” Louis frowns, blinking owlishly. 

Harry doesn’t know why he says it because the opposite is obvious, Louis’ body curled up toward the sheets and his eyes halfway shut already. 

In some ways, though, Harry can relate. There is still energy buzzing inside his veins from the excitement of trying something new, keeping him wired even though his limbs are heavy. 

“Okay,” he agrees. 

Flipping the television on and setting the volume low, he leans back against the headboard and pulls Louis into his chest, running his hands up and down his flank and feeling the heat still there. 

His small tummy falls up and down predictably, and Harry smiles and kisses the side of his head as he runs his hands over that and his hips. 

“Thank you, Louis.” 

He hums quietly, shifting, “For what?” 

Linking their fingers together for a second time, Harry lets their hands rest over his stomach. 

“For letting me take care of you,” he whispers, “I’m so lucky.” 

Everything around them feels slightly off right now, but not in a bad way. More like some alternate dimension where he doesn’t care about what he’s saying. One where he doesn’t worry about scaring Louis away or confusing him with his feelings. 

Louis doesn’t ever answer him. He snuggles back into Harry and sighs, finally relaxing his tense limbs. 

They don’t get much sleep that night. The clock reads three forty-seven when Harry checks before they go to sleep, and the next time his eyes open it says six fifty, because they’ve got another interview at eight and a twenty minute drive over there. 

In the car, Louis leans his head on Harry’s shoulder and the others don’t even question it. It’s the most intimate thing Louis’ done in front of their friends, and it makes Harry’s heart swell. 

As the days go by and their arrangement carries on, it gets harder and harder to ignore how much Harry wishes Louis wanted more of him than just friends with benefits. 

Louis stretches, yawning obnoxiously before curling up further into him as the car pulls to a stop. 

“C’mon, love,” he says quietly, “we’ve got to get inside.” 

Once his eyes flutter open, Louis smiles at him and leans up to peck him on the cheek before sliding out after Liam and Niall. 

Harry will keep taking what he can get. 

+

Harry figures out he can get quite a lot. Whatever he wants, really. 

Louis has become so eager to please that sometimes Harry gets nervous people are going to catch on. He bites at everyone else but waits on Harry endlessly, getting him food or water when he didn’t ask for it and smiling extra wide when Harry compliments him. 

All of it seems so _public_ that it’s been difficult to get it out of his head. So he doesn’t. 

It’s a revelation in itself because for a little while Harry had forgotten that Louis is allowed to go out and do things with other people and have a life of his own. Outside of closed doors, Harry _still_ has no control over him. Which, okay, he thinks, isn’t entirely true. Louis is very considerate of his feelings and always asks him before making important decisions but that isn’t the point. 

He’d snuck out of the hotel room early this morning, sliding out from under Harry’s arm and dressing in the dark before whispering his goodbyes with a kiss to his cheek. Hours later, Harry woke up to a text explaining where he’d gone. 

Nothing had immediately worried him. He’d gone to a radio interview with Niall, since he and Liam have been getting ‘too much’ press lately. Harry’d just been happy to get the extra sleep. 

Now, another few hours later, he’s wide awake. Louis and Niall are back and eating breakfast, Liam situated across from them when Harry slides into the chair. 

“So, how was it?” Liam asks them, wiping syrup from his chin with a napkin. 

“It was alright,” Niall shrugs, “but Louis had a _great_ time.” 

Niall chuckles and raises an eyebrow as he elbows Louis in the side, some inside joke Harry isn’t aware of yet. 

Louis huffs and shakes his head as his eyes flicker up nervously to see Harry’s reaction. He hadn’t been concerned before, but now he is. 

“What is he talking about?” 

The table goes quiet for a moment after Harry speaks, Louis gripping the handle of his spoon so hard his knuckles go white. 

“It’s nothing-” he starts. 

“The host was very smitten,” Niall smirks, speaking around a mouthful of eggs, “flirted with Lou the entire time. Didn’t even realize I was there til nearly the end!” 

Harry nods slowly and doesn’t look up at Louis again for the rest of the meal. 

It’s partially to tease him, to see him beg for forgiveness later on when they’re alone, but, as always, there’s never just one layer. This particular one is not one of Harry’s favorites, though he knows it better than anything else. Jealousy is a weak point, especially when it comes to Louis. 

Scrunching his nose up in a sniff to hide his upset from the others, Harry eats his food silently while they talk. He can feel Louis’ eyes on him the entire time. 

He’s familiar with it, the way it begins as a dull ache in his chest and then spreads all over until it consumes him. Harry usually gets sad before anything else. Sometimes he cries. And then he gets angry. 

Irrationally anger that he knows he’s not supposed to feel. Louis is his own person and he’s young and attractive and of course people are going to fawn over him. He’s always enjoyed it too, something about an inferiority complex and how he thinks he’s not as deserving as the rest of them. 

Harry wishes Louis would get all of his fulfilment from _him_ , because he’ll offer him validation for years if that’s what it takes. Over the past four of them, he’s had to bite his tongue to keep it in. 

Just as he’s finishing his orange juice, Harry realizes. 

Things are different now, marginally. Louis isn’t some unattainable being that Harry has to pretend he isn’t madly in love with anymore. Well, not completely, anyway. 

This time he can _do_ something about it. Excitement buzzes around in his brain over the top of the bitterness, zooming through a million different ways he could do this. It all comes full circle when he glances up and catches Louis’ eyes remaining on him. 

Ever since Niall brought it up, he’s been a mess. Biting his lip, pushing the food around on his plate, running his little hands through his hair. Harry smirks. This is going to be much more fun and interesting than the sad, self-loathing nap he’d planned in his head a few minutes prior. 

“I’m headed next door to the mall to find some shoes for tomorrow. You guys coming?” Niall asks. 

Liam nods. Louis shakes his head. 

“Of course we are,” Harry smiles. 

Before he can complain, Harry stands and slips his shoes on, heading out the door behind Liam. It’s a risky move. Louis might just stay seated and then everything he’s got planned will be for naught. 

Harry scratches his nose to hide his grin when he hears him tumble out of the door and slam it shut behind him. 

The lift is spacious and made of reflective glass, so he’s got a perfect view of Louis without even having to try. He doesn’t look, though. Harry stares ahead at the metal doors while Louis fish mouths beside him. 

In the car, he steals the front seat before anyone else can and leaves them to sit in the back instead. It probably shouldn’t make him feel as powerful as it does, seeing Louis fidget nervously the whole way there. 

Walking would’ve been faster but Harry’s glad for the extra barrier. The more he ignores him, the more desperate Louis gets for his attention. 

Niall chooses a small, trendy-looking store to shop in first, browsing the racks with Liam close behind. Subtly, Harry curves the other way towards the back of the shop. Louis’ soft footfalls are obvious without even having to turn around. 

“Harry,” he tries. 

He stops walking for a second to make him think he’s going to listen, admires the material on a hanging shirt, and then turns back around and keeps walking. 

“H-” he tries again. 

“Hello, can we help you find anything today?” 

A saleswoman approaches them energetically from the side, eyes wide and trained on Harry’s face. 

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Harry nods, “I’m looking for a nice jacket.” 

She lights up again, nodding and leading them over to another section. 

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty cold out there, isn’t it?” She giggles, “We have a brand new selection that just got put on shelves today.” 

Pretending to be thinking, Harry flexes his arms in a few different positions and purses his lips. This time, he feels _two_ sets of eyes on him. 

“Which one would look best, do you think?” He asks her. 

It becomes increasingly difficult to hide his grin but Harry tries. Louis huffs impatiently behind him. 

Scanning over the rack of jackets, the girl bites her lip and blushes as she tugs a leather jacket off of it’s hanger to hand to him. Smiling politely, Harry sticks out his arms and turns his back to her, letting her slide it over his shoulders. 

He has to step past Louis to get to the mirror. Louis doesn’t budge. Arms crossed over his chest and pouting prettily, he looks determined. Unfortunately, Harry isn’t quite finished yet. 

So he takes the long way around a different rack to get to the full length mirror, adjusting the collar and sizing himself up. Surprisingly, it fits him perfectly. 

“You’ve got wonderful taste, darling,” he says, catching her eye behind him in the reflection over Louis’ head. 

She blushes some more and mumbles but Louis walks away. Without a sound, he heads toward the dressing rooms and leaves them alone. 

“Would you just excuse us for one second?” 

Harry doesn’t wait for her to nod before he rounds the same corner and follows him into one of the stalls. He manages to get a hold of the door just as its about to swing shut loudly, using his strength to keep Louis from slamming it in his face. 

Eventually he overpowers him, pushing Louis backward into the cubicle and locking the door behind him. He doesn’t say anything as he manhandles him until his chest is pressed against the wall and Harry’s chest is pressed to _Louis_. 

Roughly, he noses along Louis’ neck as he squirms in his hold, nipping at the skin. 

“Harry, stop it,” he struggles. 

With one hand he yanks the back of Louis’ trousers down. With the other, he lands a firm, echoing slap against his arse. 

Instantly, Louis inhales and relaxes against the wall. His straining wrists go limp in Harry’s hold, pushing his hips back into him submissively. He gives him three more before trailing his hand back up to wrap around his delicate throat. 

“Did you like that, Louis?” He hums, “Did you enjoy seeing me flirt with her?” 

Wetly, Louis glances down at his shoes and scuffs them on the dirty tile. 

“No,” he whispers. 

Tugging his head back up harshly, Harry holds him close as he speaks quietly into his ear. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” 

“No,” Louis whines louder, sticking his bottom lip out while he wriggles against Harry. 

Rolling his lips together thoughtfully, he grabs the outline of Louis’ stiffening cock through his trousers, gripping hard before releasing. The leather looks fantastic next to his skin. 

“Oh,” he moans. 

“Shut up,” Harry snaps, shoving two fingers into his mouth, “Do you want her to come in here and see you like this?” 

It strikes a chord in him, Harry can tell, because Louis shudders, his eyes rolling backward at the thought. Before he can get too excited, Harry brings him back. 

“I bet that’s exactly what you want, baby,” he swiftly unbuttons his trousers, sticking his hand inside to stroke him gently, contradicting his tone. “She would know exactly who you belong to. Daddy’s good boy, yeah?” 

Louis gulps loudly as he bites his own finger to keep quiet. He’s whimpering though, and Harry isn’t even sure he realizes he’s doing it. His small fingers clutch desperately onto the sleeves of the black leather covering his arms. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “Daddy’s.” 

Hooking his chin over Louis’ shoulder, Harry glances down where he’s touching him and smiles to himself. Everything is falling into place in his head. 

He sucks bright, purple bruises into the skin of his neck with his head thrown back, distracted, and speeds up his hand. Louis shakes in his arms each time he thumbs over the sensitive tip of his cock, already a leaking mess in his pants and on Harry’s hand. 

“Are you going to come for me?” He asks. 

Nodding, Louis breathes, “yeah.” 

Harry stops. 

“Get yourself together,” he says quickly, stepping back, “we’ve got to find Niall and Liam.” 

Harry is already back in the jacket section by the time Louis ventures out the doors, timidly peeking out to see who’s watching before he moves forward. 

Either luckily or unfortunately, the girl is gone when he looks for her again to check out. Kinks aside, Harry would feel guilty if he didn’t buy the jacket now. Not to mention the way Louis had practically salivated over it. 

Niall texts him just as he’s taking the bag from the cashier. 

_got the shoes. heading next door to get some food_

Perfect, he thinks. He can’t give into Louis _too_ easily. 

With an unbothered glance over his shoulder, Harry walks next door with Louis trailing obediently behind him. 

“Hey, we ordered drinks already,” Niall says when they sit down. 

They’re both already on the outside, so he and Louis slide into the booth opposite them. 

“Thanks,” Harry nods. 

“Yeah,” Liam trails off, “Lou, you okay?” 

“Fine,” he breathes. 

From the corner of his eye, Harry can still see the clear outline of his erection straining against his tight jeans. His cheeks are flushed bright red and his pupils are dilated as he blinks owlishly. 

“You sure? You look a bit sick,” Niall mutters. 

Swinging an arm behind his back Harry nudges him, “You’re just hungry, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. 

They back off after that when Niall starts talking about his new shoes and Liam gushes about the sales. Harry listens and comments and sips his drink leisurely and Louis stays silent next to him. 

He leans almost completely on Harry, breath catching as his hand rubs careful circles on his thigh. Not too high to be inappropriate, but not low enough to be even remotely modest. 

Louis pokes at his food again when it gets to the table. If they were anywhere else and not already invested in some kink narrative, Harry would probably feed him. He would be all shy and malleable the way he is now, glancing up at Harry like he’s everything - the way he’s been glancing at Louis for years. 

The thought feels too soft for the moment so Harry files it away to explore later and moves his hand further up the inside of Louis’ thigh. 

Reaching a shaky hand out to grab his water cup, Louis barely gets a drink in before he’s choking on it, trying to hide the fact that Harry’s big hand is cupping his entire cock again underneath the table. 

Harry shushes him again when their friends glance over worriedly from their conversation, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. 

Their lunch sits unfinished the longer Harry rubs him through his jeans. Louis has given up any subtlety now, leaning his warm forehead against Harry’s shoulder. He’d wanted to take him to the bathroom and finish him off, but he gets an opportunity sooner than he thought. 

Where they’re seated in the back of the restaurant is private and away from the regular dining area, but it’s on the way to the restrooms. Just as he’s about to maneuver Louis out of the booth and across the hallway, there is an excited gasp and the click of heels coming closer. 

Tensing immediately, Harry covers Louis’ body with his own as he cradles him possessively. It would probably not be good if someone got a picture of them sitting this close, but it would be even worse if they got Louis’ current face. 

By some miracle, the fan rushes up to Niall and appears to care nothing about Harry and Louis on the other side of the booth, chatting animatedly about golf and footie. 

For a few minutes they talk alone, and then Liam jumps in. With both of them distracted and turned the other way, Harry takes his chance. 

Louis’ leg jerks when he really begins to press down, paying close attention to his body language. Tucked away in safely Harry’s neck, Louis whimpers again. 

“I want you to listen to me, okay, baby?” He whispers. 

Shakily, Louis nods. 

“M’gonna keep rubbing you real nice and fast, yeah? I want you to come for me.” 

Pulling away just long enough to look him in the eyes, Harry sees the nerves inside of them. He can tell when Louis’ brain goes into overdrive, when he’s so overwhelmed he can’t think straight any more. 

Then he sees Louis’ eyes flutter shut, and he comes. 

Right there under Harry’s hand, with their friends and a total stranger less than a few feet away. Harry doesn’t get to appreciate it properly because he’s going back to shielding him from anyone’s immediate view. Only _he_ gets to see this. 

He ushers Louis out of the booth with a firm hand holding him up, herding him into the bathroom before they notice they’re gone. Locking the door, Harry sets about cleaning him. 

“You’re mine,” he growls, voice firm but not as authoritative as earlier. 

This part, afterwards when they’re tired and pliant and gentle, has grown to be his favorite part. It’s obvious in those moments just how much Louis trusts him. 

“Daddy,” he says, clinging to Harry’s chest as if to prove his point, “...yours.”

“Baby,” he murmurs, “you did so well for me. Best boy in the world.” 

He means it. 

Kissing the sweat off of Louis’ eyebrow, he sways them back and forth before parting from him again to wet a paper towel. His jeans are black, luckily, and with a bit of scrubbing it doesn’t look like it’s going to leave a stain. 

“Hey, was that alright?” Harry finds his eyes, grabbing Louis’ chin. 

“Was perfect,” he says hoarsely, “s’always perfect with you. Thank you.” 

Smiling into his hair, he presses a kiss there too and hugs him again. As always, they should probably talk about this later when Louis isn’t so floaty. Harry opens his mouth to tell him that, but he’s cut off when someone knocks on the bathroom door. 

“Oh, shit,” he tells Louis, chuckling. 

Louis’ eyes widen when he realizes it’s the girl that’d been talking to Niall, giggling behind his hand. 

“Just a second,” Harry calls. 

When he opens the door a few minutes later, she’s no longer standing there. They tell Liam and Niall that Louis threw up from something he’d eaten earlier and they’re too busy talking about something the fan had said that they just wave a hand at them and head toward the car. 

He’d proven his point and they’d tried out a new kink, but Harry doesn’t think he could take purposely ignoring him ever again. This time, he pulls Louis into his lap for the short ride and holds him curled up to his chest with a hand on the back of his head until they get back to the hotel. 

+

Harry tries to keep him interested even when they aren’t alone, when they can’t do anything but be around each other platonically. 

In some ways it’s manipulative, but only because Harry’s too scared to have an open conversation about a relationship with him. He’d hate to have the image of Louis leaving imprinted into the backs of his eyelids. 

He’s thinking maybe if he keeps him occupied and happy when they can’t sneak off somewhere, he’ll be more likely to be okay with it if Harry ever _does_ work up the courage. It’s unlikely, but Louis really likes amusement parks. 

Which seems ridiculously unrelated, but it’s got everything to do with today. For a few hours before their show, they’re going to have a good time and not think about anything else, not even Harry’s inner crisis. 

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late,” he tugs on Louis’ shirt to get his attention. 

“Alright, alright,” he groans, “Do I look okay?” 

Both of them are decked out in black tees and jeans, baseball caps secured over their heads so they won’t be recognized. Slipping on the black sunglasses as well, Harry nods. 

“Amazing as always,” he hums. 

Louis scoffs but steps away from the mirror finally, hand slipping into Harry’s bigger one on the way to the lift. 

It’d been pure luck that the amusement park had been next door to the hotel. He’d noticed it when they’d pulled up yesterday when Louis was asleep on his shoulder. With the promise of a surprise in the morning and a thorough orgasm, he’d gotten Louis to go to bed early last night. 

Since it’s still early, the park is nearly empty when they get there. He walks through the entrance holding Louis’ hand tightly in his own. 

Squealing loudly, Louis jumps up and down. 

“Is this the surprise?” He asks, “I had no idea there was one so close.” 

Grinning back at him brightly, Harry nods and glances around at the empty lines for the attractions. 

“What should we do first?” 

Louis drags him off to several different roller coasters first. Harry’s glad they hadn’t eaten before they left. Even so, he’s nauseous when he steps off the third, tugging Louis’ hand to get him to slow down. 

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. 

“S’okay, but maybe we could take a break from roller coasters for now?” Harry laughs nervously. 

They stop at a food stall to get some water and a bagel and wait until Harry doesn’t feel like he’s about to vomit before they move on. 

It doesn’t matter though, because Louis is glowing. Harry can see it on him now, even under their disguises. He hasn’t stopped smiling since the moment they walked in, and Harry’s glad he thought of this. 

The ferris wheel comes to life behind his head, spinning slowly as people look out over the sides. Following his gaze, Louis smirks and raises an eyebrow. 

They move to the front of the line as soon as the last group steps off. Downing the rest of his water, Harry hands over the tickets he’d purchased earlier to the operator and steps through the gate with Louis close behind him. 

“I’ve never been on a ferris wheel,” he mentions. 

“Seriously?” Harry eyes him, “You’ll love it. They’re so cool.” 

Louis grabs his hand as the ride starts like they’re on a plane, but Harry doesn’t make fun of him. The higher up they get he begins to look down at the people below them. 

“We’re so high up,” he giggles. 

Mouth twitching fondly at him, Harry tries to stop staring. It doesn’t work. Louis catches him as he turns back around, just as they reach the very top, and mirrors his expression. 

“What?” He asks. 

Surging forward purely because he feels like it, Harry connects their lips quickly just as the ride pauses for them to enjoy the view. He’s enjoying Louis too much to look down. 

He kisses him long and hard where no one can see, and Louis tries to push his jacket off of his shoulders, his hand dangerously close to the outline of Harry’s cock in his tight jeans already. 

Pulling back, Harry wipes his mouth with his sleeve and gives Louis his space before things can get too heated. 

He thinks they’d get less in trouble from a headline that read _Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson Have Fun Day Off at the Fair_ instead of _Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson Found Naked Together On Top of Ferris Wheel!_ They’d never hear the end of it. 

That would defeat the purpose, anyway. They’re supposed to be having _platonic_ fun. 

He laughs as they catch their breath, moving backward again toward the ground. 

“Quick,” he points, “look how high up we are.” 

Louis follows his instructions, an incredulous look on his face as he watches the buildings get bigger and bigger on the way back down. 

“Thank you for taking me here,” he says when they’re on the ground again. 

Harry smiles at him in response. 

They stop at the games last, because a stuffed bear catches Louis’ eye. 

“Do you want it?” 

Snapping out of his haze, Louis refocuses on him. 

“Hmm? Oh, no. I just thought it looked nice.” 

Dropping his hand, he heads over to the booth, determined. The man behind the counter hands him the plastic water gun in exchange for his tickets and Harry aims at the target. 

On the first try, he misses. Then he misses the second and third, too. 

“I don’t need it, H. It’s fine, really.” 

“No, I have to get the bear,” he shakes his head. 

Picking up the toy gun to aim again, Harry glares down the plastic barrel at the target. If Louis wants the bear, he’ll get the bear. He’s getting frustrated now. This is supposed to be a perfect day. Harry can’t even win at a children’s game? 

He wants Louis to remember this day. If they leave now, he won’t have a souvenir. The bear will remind him of exactly who it came from. He’s being ridiculous, but now he’s embarrassed too, and that doesn’t feel good like a good combination. 

“Harry,” Louis says slowly, pulling him away from the booth so he can talk to him, “what’s the matter?” 

For a few seconds he’s too busy staring off at the plush toys on the wall that he doesn’t answer. Then he figures he should just be honest. 

“Want you to have fun with me,” he says helplessly, shrugging. 

His answer doesn’t even fit with the original question but Louis seems to understand. He glances at Harry confusedly, smiling a bit as he squints, turning to face him. 

“Hazza, I always have fun with you.” 

Louis’ arms wrap around his waist as his face mashes into his chest. Hesitantly, Harry hugs him back. 

“It’s a stupid game, yeah?” Louis hums, “Don’t let it bother you. I had so much fun today and it was so nice of you to take me.” 

The stubborn part of him is already fighting back frustrated tears, but the embrace is making him feel a bit better. 

“Okay,” he says when his voice feels stable again. 

Grabbing Harry’s hand, Louis turns toward the exit. 

“Wait,” Harry stops him, walking back over to the booth. 

He stares down at his last ticket in his hand before handing it over for his final chance. Taking a steadying breath, Harry lifts the plastic one last time and focuses hard on the red dot just below the bear, and then shoots. 

A buzzer goes off above him, the green light blinking over the bear’s head. Louis laughs gleefully behind him. 

“You did it, Hazza,” he cheers. 

He’s finally handed the teddy bear, soft and plush in his hands and absolutely perfect for Louis, and he grins. Louis holds his hand in one and the bear’s hand in the other all the way back to the hotel, already planning out where he’s going to keep it on the bus so he won’t lose it. 

Pulling a sharpie out of his bag when they get back upstairs, Harry scrawls _HS_ on the bottom of one foot and _LT_ on the other, then draws a heart around them both. Louis takes it back from him with a kiss on the cheek. 

“Thank you,” he says again. 

By the time they have to head to the venue, he’s forgotten all about his moody attitude. He’s been too busy watching Louis cradle it to his chest for the past few hours that the feeling’s been replaced with something else. Something deeper. 

_Oh, yeah_ , he thinks when Louis brags to their friends about it, _it’s love_. 

+

With a free weekend ahead of them and Louis’ list swimming around inside of his head, Harry figures he can kill a few birds with one stone. 

There are things he’d written down that are just general sex things, but then there are the more intense ones, things like humiliation and crying, subspace, asphyxiation and telling him when he can come. Just the idea of those make Harry breathless, shifting subtly in his seat when Louis turns to look at him. 

It isn’t necessarily that he wants to get them over with, just that the concept alone is a bit daunting. Telling Louis what to do and when to do it is one thing. Having power and complete control over him is another. 

So Harry plans because it’s what he does best. He reopens Louis’ original note in his phone and writes down ideas for things Louis might like and then brainstorms some more off of those. 

All of the research was completed a long time ago, when they’d first started talking about it. If Harry had to take a written test on how to tie a perfect knot or what materials don’t leave harsh marks on skin or how to tell if someone is slipping into subspace, he’d ace it. Full marks. 

Doing it, however, appears to be a completely different scenario. He and Louis aren’t even alone yet and his hands are beginning to shake. 

He is capable of these things, but it isn’t just being able to do them that will please Louis. It will have to be perfect, or it won’t work. And it has to, because then he’ll be giving Louis what he needs, and he’ll keep coming back, just like he does now. 

Louis called him _Daddy_ , for fuck’s sake. He can do this. He’s not going to back out this far in. 

Another hour of Niall’s drunk babbling and Liam singing at the top of his lungs to a potted plant, Louis finally excuses them. 

He takes Harry’s hand and pulls it until they’re standing, and then leads them up to their hotel room. Not once does he let go, their friends not even sparing a glance as they step out. Harry grins. 

Once they’re safely inside, he spins around to lock it and then promptly drops to his knees in front of Harry. 

This morning, they’d discussed all of this. The long weekend seemed perfect because they take every chance they can get, but it gives them time to recover properly if Louis gets too out of it. 

Louis had agreed immediately when he explained everything he wanted to do to him, nearly salivated at some of the things off the list. So, it’s all consensual, but Louis should know by now that he’s still going to make sure. 

Bending down to push the hair off of his forehead and look him in the eye, Harry moves his mouth next to his ear. 

“You’ll say your word if you want to stop?” 

Louis nods, “Yes, promise.” 

Harry feels like he’s relatively quiet when they’re out in public. He talks slow and so he doesn’t say anything if he feels like he’s not going to be able to get it all out properly. On the contrary, Louis is loud when they’re out. He fills up a room with his energy the minute he walks into it, and Harry watches from afar as he owns it. 

Alone, they’re the opposite. Louis speaks only when prompted or to say Harry’s name, and even then it’s hardly a proper sentence. And Harry feels like it’s the only time he can say whatever he wants, unfiltered, no judgment, and so he lets his mouth run wild with the things he can’t say to Louis any other time and doesn’t worry about anything else. 

It’s cathartic, and it makes him smile to think of the parallels. He’d been nervous earlier, but now he feels like he’s in his element. 

“Hands behind your back,” he snaps. 

Something like _confident_. 

Louis rushes to comply, clasping his palms together and resting them over the line of his pants as he rolls his shoulders. Frowning, Harry takes a moment to massage them before they really begin. Once they do, he won’t be as kind. 

Walking over to the counter, he leaves Louis to himself for a moment. He fills up a glass of water and sips leisurely at the small bar, pretending to be thirsty. Really, he’s getting it for Louis afterward because he’s probably going to need it, but he doesn’t need to know that right now, not when it’s part of the buildup. 

When he goes back to stand in his original spot and looks down, Louis’ already hard in his trousers, tenting up the fabric slightly at the front. Harry bets Louis’ been thinking about this moment _almost_ as long as he has. 

He pulls Louis’ eyes up to his sharply with a finger underneath his chin, his breath catching at the fast motion, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. They’re barely inside the door on the carpet, but Harry doesn’t move them. 

Instead, he positions Louis’ head where he wants it and nods once at him to keep it there, and then goes to work unzipping his trousers and sliding them off to the side. Louis’ gaze flicks between his face and where his cock is laying heavy in his boxers, but he doesn’t move. 

Taking his time to draw this out properly, Harry tugs his pants down slowly and surely, tossing them on top of his other clothes. He keeps his shirt on for now so he isn’t completely nude. 

Head tilted back, Harry can see the long column of Louis’ throat stretched out as if taunting him. Cocking his own to the side, he smirks and steps forward. 

Louis’ face meets his cock unceremoniously, hitting him in the cheek while he flinches slightly, but he still doesn’t move an inch. If this were a normal scene, Harry would’ve praised him for that. It isn’t. 

“Open.” 

His lips fall open at the sound of Harry’s deep voice, startling them both into action from the silence. 

Harry slips three fingers onto his tongue to wet them, sliding them all the way back until his eyes flutter shut, before pulling them out and using them to glide over his cock easily. 

“Don’t move,” is the only warning Harry gives before pushing into the heat, Louis’ lips wrapping easily around him but not moving. 

In the front of his mind, Harry keeps his attention focused on his thigh, because that’s supposed to be their ‘red’ when Louis isn’t able to speak. If he needs to, he can unlatch his hands from behind his back and push Harry off, or squeeze three times if he needs a break. 

Things like that make everything feel safer and less intimidating, and they make Harry feel okay to push him even farther than he would have before. 

He fucks Louis’ face at an even rhythm and catches his eye when he can, hand on the back of his head to keep from jostling him at the push. This is perfect enough as it is and Harry could probably come from this alone, but that’s not all Louis wants. 

So, naturally, he waits for a few more minutes before giving it to him. He pushes in and out until his jaw is sure to be sore, speeding up faster until there are tears on his cheeks from the punishing pace of his hips. 

He pulls out until only the tip rests on his tongue. And then, inch by inch, he eases back inside, further and further and further, until Louis’ nose is at his stomach. 

And - _holy shit_. That’s the only thing he can think, his own mouth hung open, brows furrowed with surprise. 

Louis’ got his entire length in his mouth, and he’s not - Harry isn’t small. He can feel the end of his dick all the way at the back of his throat, cutting off his airway completely. 

_One, two, three,_ Harry counts, shaking himself out of his daze. _Four, five, six._ After some research and some odd testing a few nights ago, they’d agreed on seven-second increments, so Louis wouldn’t pass out. 

At seven, he pulls out all the way. Louis heaves forward, choking and coughing once before steadying himself. He wipes his face with the back of his hand and then puts it back behind his back and tilts his head up. 

“Again,” he says, voice patchy and broken, almost a whisper. 

Harry’s so glad he’s okay that he’d almost forgotten his role. 

“I don’t think you’re in charge right now, love.” 

The way it comes out is condescending but he doesn’t correct himself, just watches Louis’ muscles go lax and his mouth drop open once again. 

Rubbing the tip of his cock over his lips for a few seconds, Harry works himself in and out at a faster pace, getting closer to coming. After that, he does it again. 

Pulls Louis in close and shoves deep inside of his throat, takes his breath away for a few seconds before giving it right back to him. 

And then he fucks in some more, feeling himself tensing up as he works closer. 

All of this would be disconcerting if not for the way that he can tell Louis is happy, his relaxed posture, slight smile when he’s left empty, and the, now fully hard, shape of his own prick in his boxers below. 

It’s what makes him stroke harder, faster, and then he’s coming. 

Hands on Louis’ pink cheeks, keeping him still, he pushes in to the hilt again and comes, hard, at the very back of his throat. Louis probably doesn’t even _taste_ it for how far back he is, and Harry feels insane. It’s all so _good_. 

_Seven,_ he thinks. He pulls out, thick cum stringing from his lips to Harry’s cock, and bends down to his level quickly. 

“Color, baby,” he breathes frantically, “Okay?” 

“Green,” Louis nods, linking their fingers together gratefully with a smile. 

Okay, then. Part two. 

Taking little time to bask in his orgasm, Harry lifts Louis from the ground and drops him onto the bed, laying down beside him and letting Louis curl up in his lap. 

“Do you want to come?” 

Louis blinks hazily but finds his eyes after a moment, the fog clearing slightly but also clinging to the inside of his brain still from the way Harry’s speaking to him. 

“Please, Daddy.” 

They hadn’t discussed using that name tonight but hearing it does little to slow him down in his goal. As long as Louis is comfortable. If he keeps calling him that, Harry may have to get himself off for a second time afterwards. 

Right, he thinks, getting back on track. Humiliation. 

“Look how hard you are, baby,” he points, palming at Louis’ cock through his trousers. 

Without his mouth full he whines loudly, hiding in Harry’s chest as he blushes prettily below him. 

“Can’t believe this is all from me forcing my cock down your throat,” he says conversationally, “You really liked that, didn’t you?” 

Choking on air, Louis struggles to nod as Harry unzips him and gets a hand inside to touch him through his wet boxers, lingering especially on the head where he knows Louis is most sensitive. 

At first he hadn’t noticed much of a difference in the way Louis’d been acting. Every other scene they do was just as good. Now, he understands. 

Louis thrashes in his grip even though he’s barely touching him, tears leaking from his eyes as he looks up pleadingly. He’s beautiful, and Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it. 

“Took all of Daddy so well.” 

Before this, Louis’d explained exactly how he wants to be humiliated. He doesn’t like slang terms, nothing inherently _bad_ . Instead, it’d taken him a long time to admit, he wants Harry to focus on his _size_. 

In short, Harry’s been dreaming about this for a long time. 

The thing is, Louis is a small person, arguably. He’s shorter than the rest of them and has a slimmer physique, curves combined with compact edges that Harry adores. But below his waist, tucked away in his boxers where Harry’s got his hand now, he’s anything but tiny. 

Luckily, Harry is big enough that they can still play into the fantasy, still bigger than Louis enough to pretend that there’s some great size difference worthy of being pointed out, of being humiliated for. 

Working his pants down, he leaves Louis naked in his lap, lip caught between his teeth in anticipation. 

“Oh, baby,” Harry coos, “you’re so much smaller than Daddy, aren’t you?” 

Louis sobs. Happily, Harry thinks, because he ruts his hips up into his hand with a soft, contented sigh. 

“S’why it’s so easy for me to hold you down, make you take it, hmm?” 

He could fit his entire hand around Louis, but he only uses two fingers to trace the outline of him like he would if Louis were actually small. Harry huffs out a laugh. 

“Can’t even use my hand, Lou, just my fingers.” 

Keening, Louis shifts back and forth, trying to get more friction. Harry holds off a bit longer. 

“You were choking so much on my cock but I think I could take all of you without even trying,” he croons dirtily into Louis’ ear. 

Louis comes when Harry isn’t expecting it, but he still shivers afterward, still slips his hips up like he can’t decide if he wants to stop. 

Well, that hadn’t been part of the plan, but Harry can think of another thing on Louis’ list that would be perfect right about now. 

“Think you can come for me again, baby?” 

He waits for Louis to nod once before he continues, checking his color and making sure he’s okay. 

Then, sliding his two fingers faster over the slick, cum-covered prick, Harry lets them fly off of the top purposely before tutting at him, nudging their foreheads together. 

“It’s just not big enough for me to pull you off, love,” he shrugs helplessly enough so Louis will feel it, “Guess I’m just going to have to rub you, yeah?” 

He works filthy circles down onto the head of Louis’ cock, pressed down fairly hard, while Louis tries to shift away from the overstimulation. His mouth is permanently hung open now, hasn’t shut since he’d come a minute or so ago. 

“Daddy,” he moans. 

Harry knows it hurts but it also probably feels amazing, pressure right where he needs it and body vibrating with the intensity of the release. 

Pausing his ministrations, he lets a hand wander down to Louis’ balls, massaging them gently. 

“Might be dry this time, love. Your little cock came so much.” 

Harry runs his fingers through the cum drying on his chest to prove his point, smearing it over Louis’ lips before kissing it off messily. 

He can feel himself getting hard again underneath where Louis’ sat on his lap. Without much thought, Harry readjusts them so that Louis is laying flat on his back and he’s on top of him. 

This way, he can grab both of them together. 

“Look at that,” he nods down to Louis, “look how tiny you are, little one.” 

Louis follows his gaze in between their bodies, watching the head of his cock peek out from Harry’s fist every few seconds as he works them both over. 

When he begins to toss in the sheets again, Harry shakes his head, pulling his chin to look him in the eyes. 

“Don’t come. Wanna come with you, okay? Will you wait for Daddy, baby?” 

He nods underneath Harry but doesn’t do much else, fighting against himself to calm down. Harry kisses him on the cheek in appreciation and looks back down at them. 

Smirking, he moves his thumb to rub over the tops of both of their dicks and Louis mewls, clawing at his arm. 

“Can’t - I can’t,” he pants, “ _Harry_.” 

In a flurry of movement and more whispers of _so little, so good for me, so tiny,_ Harry speeds his hand up until they’re both coming, white painting their chests again and even some of Louis’ neck and chin. 

And then he collapses next to him, boneless, on the sheets. Pressing kisses into his face, Harry dries the excess tears. 

“Color, baby?”

It takes him a minute, but Louis looks around the room tentatively before facing Harry finally. 

“Green,” he croaks. 

Hugging him tightly, Harry moves them to the edge of the bed, grabs Louis by the hips, and carries him slowly into the ensuite with his legs dangling on either side of his body. He whimpers until he’s sat down again, leaning on Harry for support as the bath is turned on. 

Harry sways them together in the middle of the room, kissing his warm skin and running his hands along his back and arms while the tub fills up. He adds bubbles before turning it off and settling in. 

The water feels amazing on his own aching joints, so he knows that it probably feels even better for Louis. He falls back into Harry’s chest easily, turning sideways so he can get more comfortable and lay his head underneath his chin. 

Despite the years of sharing showers and bathrooms, they’ve never bathed together. Harry hadn’t considered why, but now he thinks he knows. 

Bathing is intimate. It would be difficult to do if they were still purely friends. There is no space between their bodies, just the warmth of the water radiating up so that Louis’ pink cheeks go pinker and his skin goes slick-soft from the bubbles. Besides that, even, it’s the concept of getting clean that has Harry slowing his movements. 

The idea of getting him dirty and then cleaning him up again, of being there to pick up the pieces when Louis can’t for himself, is enough to make him shut his eyes with how intensely it hits him. 

“Daddy,” he says again, eyes closed, rubbing his cheek back and forth over Harry’s pec. 

This time there is no intent behind his words. Neither of them are hard anymore beneath the bubbles, and Louis is finally relaxed. He says it because he can, because he knows Harry is there for him even through the thick haze of subspace and his intense release. 

Wrapping his arms around him more tightly, Harry basks in his presence and sighs happily into his hair. He traces images onto his skin with no design in his head, feeling the goosebumps rise behind his motions. 

When Louis is nearly asleep, he reaches up for the soap and shampoo and begins to wash him. The day falls off of his skin beautifully, the sweat and cum and evidence of their intimacy heading toward the drain. 

Even after he’s clean, though, there are reminders. There’s a love bite behind his ear from when Harry’d been too overwhelmed to stop himself, and hand prints on his hips from his rough handling. Every part of him is still flushed red from his cheeks to his thighs. 

His hair is pushed back awkwardly because that’s how Harry’s hands ran through it minutes earlier and he hadn’t bothered to fix it. When he opens his eyes to meet Harry’s, they’re the same ones he’d looked into just a few minutes before when he’d been coming apart in his arms. 

He cleans Louis leisurely, massaging the shampoo into his hair and rubbing the sore muscles of his back, watching the soap cascade over his shoulders in long, smooth strides. He kisses the skin there softly after he pours water over it again. 

Louis is just as pliant getting out of the bath as he was going into it, sharing one towel with Harry and clutching onto him when he reaches down to pull the drain. 

Completely naked, he dries Louis much the same way he washed him, paying careful attention not to rub too harshly and irritate his skin. Drying himself off quickly, he holds onto Louis’ waist the entire time, getting him wet again everywhere they’re pressed together without much care. 

He doesn’t bother with clothes. Harry grabs Louis’ hips from behind and walks them back to the other bed with his lips attached to his neck, peeling back the sheets for him to step in. 

For a few seconds Harry has great disdain for the light switch because it will separate them, but Louis squints in the brightness so he trudges over to flip it off dutifully. 

The sheets are cold and Louis shivers against them without clothes. After Harry’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he scans his nude form on the bed and reaches out, Louis meeting him halfway. 

They don’t talk save for the small noises that fall out of Louis’ mouth as he gets comfortable, curling up against Harry’s front, a leg tangled up in his and his mouth pressed to Harry’s throat soothingly. 

Smiling sleepily, Harry mouths _I love you_ into his skin over and over again. 

He’s said it to Louis a million times before. At the end of phone calls and at night when they get into bed in their bunks or hotel rooms. But this time he doesn’t say it out loud. 

He stays silent because this time it’s different. It isn’t the kind of love he used to have for him. It encompasses all of that, but there is more. There is wanting him more than anything else in the world, there are fleeting touches and warm bodies and baths and making love to him and taking care of him endlessly, and beneath all of that, there is fear. 

This is Harry’s big epiphany. This is when he realizes that he’s gone too far, allowed himself to be immersed too deeply in their arrangement. 

Younger Harry would probably leave now, kiss him goodbye and go back to his own room to overthink everything until his head pounds and his eyes are rimmed red from crying. 

Instead of doing that, he moves in closer. He presses his forehead to Louis and breathes him in deep, trying to memorize everything he can because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll get to have it. 

Louis doesn’t do love, doesn’t do relationships. Harry’s been lucky to get to have him even as much as he has. That’s Louis’ downfall, but Harry’s is that he can’t keep a secret. 

So he keeps mouthing the words into the steady silence, halfway hoping Louis understands and halfway hoping he doesn’t. 

Somewhere, in a parallel universe, in another lifetime or something, there is a version of themselves that isn’t this complicated. Harry knows there is. This one, here, now, isn’t as simple. 

There are obstacles - Louis’ doubts and Harry’s fears and everything in between. This isn’t something he can sit Louis down to talk through, make a list of ideas and plan meticulously the utilization like everything else they’ve done so far. 

Bringing a hand up to the middle of his back to press them even closer together, Harry kisses his top lip softly and runs his thumb along his cheek, and tries to tune everything else out enough to fall asleep. 

He’ll save those big, life-altering things for another time. For now, for as long as he gets to have him for, _Louis_. 

+

The following week is busy, but it’s nice. It gives Harry a sense of stability that he hasn’t felt in a while and eases some of his doubts. 

Through interviews, radio shows, signings, and an award show appearance, Louis stays planted firmly at his side. Car rides suddenly become his favorite part of the day, when Louis crawls in beside him all tired and warm and just _relaxes_. He falls against Harry in a way that he doesn’t with Liam or Niall and it gives him a bigger rush of adrenaline than even performing does now. 

Harry’s too tired to think through anything properly from the hectic schedule, but he’s beginning to prefer it that way. It’s much easier to allow himself to be immersed completely in Louis when he isn’t worried about something else. 

And that’s all it is these days, really. Harry wakes up, looks forward to every second he can get of Louis’ time, and falls asleep in the same bed as him at night when their friends have gone to bed. Despite being pushed and shoved into events and photoshoots and shows, when Louis is there, everything feels permanent. 

The irony is not lost on Harry. Nothing here is actually permanent - he knows. Every detail from their groomed eyebrows to the laces on their shoes changes from day to day, designer to designer. Their songs change and the venues change and _they_ change. One day it will all fade and they won’t ever reach the same level of fame as they’re sitting at now. 

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that, even if everything else goes away for good, Louis will remain there, beside him, constant. 

+

Harry makes love to Louis on a Thursday night. 

He uses the term _make love_ because it feels wrong to call it anything else. Recently, he’s given up trying to sugarcoat these things inside of his brain. 

It happens at the worst time possible, really. They’re both exhausted already and they’ve got an early interview the morning after, then another photoshoot for the album cover. Still, Harry can’t say he’d have wanted it any other way. 

Devoid of the usual high of performing, Harry’s body feels heavy when he finally gets back to his hotel room. His eyes are halfway closed already when Louis slips in the unlocked door. 

Louis locks it behind him. Toeing off his shoes by the door and letting his jacket fall carelessly off of his petite shoulders, Louis crawls up the length of the bed from the bottom until he’s curled up to Harry’s side. 

“Tired?” Harry asks him, fingers tugging through his gelled hair from earlier. 

Neither of them have had a shower yet, Harry’d been too tired to will himself up, but he snuggles him closer anyway and breathes in the scent of sweat and a bit of the cologne he’d stolen from Harry earlier. 

Louis shakes his head. He yawns behind his hand and pushes his head further into Harry’s fingers with a purr. 

“You’re not tired?” Harry double-checks, chuckling deliriously. 

The cold tip of his nose finds its way to Harry’s neck. He noses at it lightly, tasting the salt on Harry’s skin with his tongue like it’s instinct. 

With anyone else, this would probably gross him out. Harry is a strong believer in good hygiene, and this is definitely not exemplary. Now, though, it just feels _raw_. It makes Harry feel almost carnal in the most muted way, feels like Louis is his and he’s Louis’ and they’re both filthy but Harry’s never felt more clean. 

If that even makes sense, he doesn’t care. Letting his eyes fall shut, he tilts his head to the side. 

Louis’ mouth follows him, nibbling softly on his collarbones. Somewhere in his brain there are alarms going off to warn him about visible marks, but Harry can’t make his mouth open to get the words out. 

His hands move lazily to grab onto the back of Louis’ neck, to hold him there protectively. He hopes the marks last for _weeks_. 

“Louis,” he groans as Louis’ teeth dig into his throat. 

Harry feels like he could fall asleep if he tried, but also like he’s so wired he could stay up all night. Restless, he decides. His legs kick out over the sheets, Louis’ hips shifting against his thigh. 

Suddenly impatient, he uses the burst of energy to flip Louis onto his back. He goes easily and lets Harry fall down almost completely on top of him. 

He kisses Louis slowly, sucking on his bottom lip with his eyes closed. He still hasn’t said anything, but Louis whine prettily when Harry bites down, smirking at his reaction. Small hands frame the sides of his face gently. 

Because he isn’t doing much to hold himself up, most of his weight is on Louis but he doesn’t seem to mind. Harry can feel each divot of his lungs, the beat of his heart underneath his drenched tee, and the soft in-and-out of his tummy as he sucks in air between breathless kisses. 

It’s hazy and slow for a few minutes until Louis breaks him out of his trance. Sitting up, he pushes Harry back far enough that he can undress, and then promptly slides right back under him. 

This is the first thing that makes him wake up a bit more, consideration drifting back into Harry’s incoherent thoughts. 

He hadn’t planned anything for tonight. They’d talked about it but both agreed that they’d probably be too tired anyway. Lately, it’s been more than enough just to shower and slide into bed, feeling Louis’ skin against his without any pressure to do anything else. 

But Louis’ got his hands up his shirt now and he seems intent on doing something, and Harry’s got no idea what. 

“Off,” he tugs weakly at Harry’s shirt, “please.” 

He doesn’t question Louis yet, just peels the shirt off and settles back down onto the cool sheets. Harry leans in to kiss him again, hand cradling Louis’ cheek, but he doesn’t get that far. 

Instead, Louis grabs his wrist and trails it down past his chin, over the length of his torso, past even his neglected cock. It hadn’t even registered inside of Harry’s head that he’d been fully naked until now. 

Louis stops their hands between his legs over his hole, bending his knees and blushing as he glances up at Harry. 

“You want me to finger you?” 

Harry could probably talk a bit dirtier if he tried, but his brain is still stuck somewhere between Louis’ lips and he’s thinking much slower than usual. He’s not sugarcoating anymore, he reminds himself. 

He waits for Louis’ nod but it doesn’t come. Glancing down shyly, Louis shakes his head and spreads himself open that much wider, meeting his eyes again. 

It takes him a few more minutes to understand. It takes until he’s circling Louis’ rim with his finger that he realizes - Louis is asking him to fuck him. 

The connotation makes Harry grimace, and he quickly decides that he doesn’t want that. If Louis wants to do this, it’s going to be slow and unhurried and Harry’s going to take his time drawing him out. It’s not going to be a simple fuck. 

“You want - inside?” 

His words aren’t much, aren’t as filthy as they usually are, but Louis flushes under him and whimpers just the same, frantically nodding. 

Panic rises in the back of his throat, but it ebbs almost as instantly as it appeared. Harry’s still tired, exhausted at this point, really, but his body knows what to do. Without thinking much about it, he’s moving into action. 

Louis is fuzzy around the edges, swimming in his vision but crystal clear when Harry shifts to hover above him properly. He doesn’t need a plan for this. 

Harry works him open with his fingers for what feels like hours. Pushes them in and out and scissors them inside of him until he says he can’t take it anymore. Then he adds another. And another, and only stops working him over when there are tears sliding off of his face. 

He’s splayed out on the pillow case with remnants of his stage makeup smudged on his features, hair tousled from Harry’s pulling and skin tan from being outside. His eyes are even more blue than usual from crying. Harry’s so close to him that he can see each of the freckles on his nose. They’re sharing air at this point, panting into each other’s open mouths silently. 

The moment feels intense with the promise of what’s about to happen, but he doesn’t look away. He can’t when Louis doesn’t either, when he keeps holding his gaze until Harry’s fingers retreat and he pulls back to position himself. 

Bodies still slick all over from performing and the heat in the room, it isn’t difficult to slide inside of him. Louis takes it beautifully, he thinks as he inches himself in, clutching onto Harry’s arm with his mouth dropped open on a silent moan. 

His eyes roll backward and Harry groans as soon as he’s resting completely inside of him. Seconds, minutes pass in a blur as he lays there, inside of Louis for the first time. He knows Louis isn’t hurting, but he doesn’t want to move quite yet. 

It’s a good thing he’s tired, probably, because otherwise he’d be too worried. Too unsure of himself to go through with anything this monumental in their arrangement. This way, everything else in his brain clears out to make room for Louis. 

Nestled completely underneath him, his skin feels burning hot to the touch. Harry covers him with his body, supporting his tired head in his palms. 

He moves slowly at first. Holds eye contact as he pulls out nearly all the way, and then settles back in just as leisurely. Harry gasps again at the feeling, but Louis’ whole body shudders. 

Harry’s lips catch on his skin. Small fingers reach for his own, slotting them together on the mattress. The feeling doesn’t fade. 

If anything it gets stronger, gives Harry’s sleep-heavy limbs that much more energy, rocking into Louis’ smaller body steadily. It grows inside of him the longer he drags in and out, his body lowering until their chests are pressed completely together again. 

Again, his vision is going blurry with how close he is to Louis. Their noses are touching, Harry nearly cross-eyed but refusing to look away. He squeezes Louis’ hand as he doubles his efforts. 

At some point he hadn’t realized, their tears had mixed together. They’re both crying like they’re virgins and Harry sort of wishes they were. He’d have killed to be all Louis has ever known. 

He’ll settle for this. It’s more than enough, more intense than anything he’s ever felt before, and it frustrates him that it’s been right in front of him the entire time and he hasn’t taken it. 

Louis’ legs fall completely open as he surrenders, overwhelmed. Kissing the corners of his mouth gently, Harry ignores the fatigue in his muscles, the ache in his arms and the cramp in his leg, and works hard circles down into him. 

Between their bodies, Louis’ cock drags against their skin as it leaks steadily onto his stomach. Harry’s abdomen is wet with it. Determined to make him come like this, he grabs Louis under his arched back and pulls his body up, pushing down with his own. 

Instantly, Louis cries out loudly, grabbing Harry’s shoulders as he shakes through his orgasm. It doesn’t take much longer for Harry to follow. 

He squeezes Louis tightly and kisses him hard as he comes. Afterward, everything goes quiet. 

And he means to get them up so he can change the sheets, maybe run them a bath before finally getting to sleep, but he doesn’t quite get there. 

To be more specific, he doesn’t get anywhere. Harry clutches Louis to his chest so much that he’s sure he must be suffocating, and then pulls him even closer. He kisses every inch of skin he can reach and doesn’t think about much else while he leaves pretty marks all over his neck. He falls asleep without saying a word, still tucked inside of him as his eyes flicker shut. 

He made love to Louis on a Thursday, and he’s going to remember it for the rest of his life. 

+

Regardless of all the research he’d done, the depths of the internet had neglected to tell Harry that Louis is still going to have bad days. 

Which sounds like something obvious that he should probably already know, but seeing Louis upset always hits him in the worst way. It’s probably the fact that, for the last few months, everything has been perfect. Louis was happy and hadn’t taken part in any of his old habits to get relief from the stress, letting Harry take care of him instead. 

They feed off of each other. Where Louis needs to be held down and stabilized, Harry needs to hold him down and stabilize him. They get completely different things out of it, but just enough so that all of Louis’ pieces fit into Harry’s and vice versa. Unlocking another layer of their friendship has been amazing. 

Today, Louis is sad. Harry can tell immediately, as always, but the realization hits him harder than usual. 

“Lou,” he says when they get off the stage from sound check, following him to their dressing room. 

He gets a foot in just as Louis’ trying to slam it shut. 

“Louis, stop it.” 

Since they’d started this thing, Harry finds himself becoming more and more assertive with him. Taking charge not only when they’re alone but out in public, too. Usually Louis loves it, but now he seems angry. This feels like dangerous territory. 

He hasn’t handled an angry Louis since before they were _more_. 

“Leave me alone, Harry,” he says, back turned toward him as he places his hands on the counter in front of the hollywood-style mirror. 

His voice is strong but it shakes throughout, showing his resolve as he huffs down at the furniture. 

Harry approaches slowly so he doesn’t startle him, but he feels like skin-to-skin contact is the way to go. Louis can never resist him when he’s so close. 

So he rest a careful hand on his arm and waits for a few seconds before tugging on it, bringing him back into his chest. Louis goes with a thud, falling backward in Harry’s embrace as he struggles against his arms. 

“Let me go,” he grits, thrashing back and forth. 

“Baby,” Harry croons. 

He fights against him for another few minutes until he tires himself out, falling limply back into Harry with a sob. 

Spinning him around so they’re face-to-face, he wipes Louis’ cheeks off and lets him cry, hugging him tightly while he shakes. 

“Daddy,” Louis cries. 

“Shh,” he soothes, “Tell me what’s wrong, lovie.” 

It’s quick, how fast Harry switches into his role, except this time it’s not as much of something he’s playing and more of something that feels very, very _right_. 

The longer they explore each other the more Harry begins to realize that this is not just them exploring their kinks. This isn’t some friends with benefits situation where they only use each other to fulfill their lacking emotional and physical needs before going separate ways. 

What they’ve got is layered. A unique system that would probably only work for them anyway, custom fit to their lives and their interests and what they need. And it just so happens that almost everything that they need can be found in the other. 

It ends up taking Louis even longer to calm down, but Harry doesn’t mind. He’d locked the door when they came in, and he’s sure the rest of them have gone back to the hotel to get ready for the performance tonight. He’s got four hours to take care of Louis however he needs to. 

“Wanna-” Louis smacks his lips together and blinks hazily up at him. “Want you.” 

Before Harry can object, he’s got a hand on his trousers, taking the zipper down quickly and trying to get Harry out of his pants. 

“No, Louis, love, stop it.” 

His lip trembles again, “You don’t want me?” 

Harry makes an incredulous sound, something between a scoff and a gasp, and leads him over to the sofa with a reassuring hand. 

“Look at me,” he grabs his chin, “good, baby. Can you tell me what’s bothering you? We can get to the other stuff later, yeah?” 

Louis gnaws on his lip, crossing and uncrossing his legs and refusing to make eye contact. Harry rubs his thumb over his thigh and waits. 

“Just hasn’t been a good day,” he whispers, burying his face in Harry’s shirt. 

“You’re tired, or is there something else?” 

He’s got a feeling it’s something else, but this is important. A lot of their relationship is him - consensually - telling Louis what to do and bossing him around, but these parts are equally as important. There are times when Harry doesn’t - _can’t_ feel okay about moving any further until he feels like Louis’ barriers have fallen down again. 

Louis submits to him the majority of the time, but he has just as much, if not even more, control than Harry does. If he says stop, they stop. Louis could tell him he hates him and to get out and Harry would go without question, if it’s what he really wanted. 

He hopes it never comes to that. 

“Read some things on Twitter again,” he murmurs. 

Kissing his forehead, Harry rocks them and tries not to reprimand him. He knows better than to read those types of things but he’s so curious that it gets the best of him. Later, when he’s feeling better, Harry may punish him. For now, he holds him tighter and wipes his tears away with his thumb. 

“Oh, Lou.” 

“I know I’m not supposed to, but I-” he chokes on a sob, whimpering. 

He’s always been so much more sensitive than he lets on, than what Harry gets to see, and people take that for granted. 

“It’s alright,” he soothes, “You’re okay. None of them know what they’re talking about. You’re so lovely, Lou.” 

Louis scoffs, blushing. 

“I mean it,” Harry pushes, turning to face him again, “you’re amazing. You’re gorgeous, and so funny, and you sing beautifully, and I love you.” 

Harry freezes for a moment because he’d definitely not meant for that to come out and he doesn’t necessarily mean it platonically anymore, but Louis sniffs wetly and rubs a fist over his eye, trying to give a smile. 

“Thank you.” 

He sighs in relief that Louis hadn’t taken it otherwise, but then he sombers a bit. Are they really to the point where Louis would never consider the fact that Harry may mean it in a completely different way? 

“No problem.” 

After that, Harry gets lost in his own head, zoned out staring at the other wall, while Louis’ breathing returns to normal. His hand runs through Louis’ hair on autopilot but doesn’t actually feel the soft strands running through his fingers for the way he’s caught up in his feelings. 

“Harry?” Louis asks. 

He hums. 

“Do you- you said we could get to the other stuff after? Could we, uhm,” he sits up to look Harry in the face but quickly turns shy again. 

As much of an inner crisis as he’s currently having, Louis comes first. Louis will always be his top priority. 

“What do you want, darling?” 

Louis forgoes answering him vocally, moving to sit beside him on the couch and finally getting Harry’s zip all the way undone. 

He seems to know what he wants, so Harry leans back and lets Louis take what he needs. His head is spinning too wildly to do much else but stare down at him anyway. 

Once his jeans are pulled down and off of his legs, Louis lays himself across the sofa on his stomach, face positioned directly above Harry’s cock. He isn’t hard, overwhelmed from the tears and his feelings, but when he looks down at him, Louis doesn’t seem to care. 

Instead, he wraps his lips around the head of Harry’s dick and leaves them there, laying his head further down on Harry’s thigh and closing his eyes peacefully. With his other hand he reaches for Harry’s, twining their fingers together on his thigh and sighing contentedly. 

Every few minutes his cock jerks inside of Louis’ mouth but he doesn’t ever get fully hard, so he lets Louis do as he pleases because he looks more relaxed than he ever has. At some point Harry thinks he’d even fallen asleep. 

Leaning his head back and shutting his own eyes, Harry inhales through his nose and lets it out. 

For the first time during all of this, he’s confused. Not confident, like he usually is because, when it comes to Louis, Harry knows what he’s doing. Knows him almost better than he does himself, sometimes. 

But that’s just it, it doesn’t matter what Harry knows about him. What matters is that Louis has to figure that out for himself without Harry feeding it to him or influencing him or, even worse, keeping him trapped. 

Maybe Louis is capable of being in a relationship, just not with Harry. There could be someone out there that fits into the shape of his body even better than Harry always has, although he doesn’t think that’s possible. 

He’s in love with Louis. It’s something he’s known for a while, and it isn’t all that surprising. In the span of a few months he’s gone from a lovesick teenager to a man that feels like his heart is sizes too big for his chest, choking him each time he tries to take a calming breath with how much space it takes up inside of him. Like if he opens his mouth too wide everything might come pouring out. 

Even with his cock resting inside of Louis’ warm, open mouth, all he can seem to concentrate on is the fact that he’s made a very big, very bad mistake by agreeing to get so close to him. 

Louis stirs in his sleep and Harry checks the time on his phone before shushing him again. They’ve still got a few more hours. 

Harry plans to take advantage of every second of it, because he doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend like Louis isn’t just a sexual gratification to him. Like he isn’t Harry’s actual soulmate, and that he’s incredibly in love with him and probably always has been. 

He’s said a million times he’d do anything for Louis, even if that means giving him the space he needs to realize that. 

\+ 

He thinks about it for a long time. Even after Louis wakes up and is happy again, Harry’s mind lingers. It’s difficult to think of anything else even when he’s buried inside of him later that same night, tangled up in his limbs and the sheets while Louis falls apart underneath him. 

It’s more frustrating than anything. It’s realizing that he can be everything Louis needs, but that Louis might not be able to do the same for him. It breaks his heart into a million pieces that stab deep into his skin every time he sees him afterward. 

It makes him angry because if he just hadn’t thought of it, if the notion had never entered his mind in the first place, he’d still be living in partly platonic domestic bliss. Happily ignoring any threat to their handcrafted bubble of happiness. 

Ignorance is bliss, he’s heard, but he just can’t push it down now. Not after it’s been festering inside of him like a disease for the remainder of the week. 

That’d been on Monday. On Thursday, he decides he’s got to do something about it. All things considered, it’s been a quick and uncomfortable descent. 

Louis’ caught on now, has been giving him odd looks each time he doesn’t laugh as hard or doesn’t smile as wide as he usually does. It’s killing him because it’s really not Louis’ fault, Harry’s just not someone that will always be okay with being just friends. 

Harry thinks offhandedly that Louis might be feeling like he’d been feeling, that first night he’d noticed the shift in Louis that no one else picked up on. It makes his heart squeeze. 

There’s another part of him that feels somewhat guilty, too. This whole thing was supposed to help Louis find himself and explore his desires in a comfortable environment. Instead, Harry’s learned more about himself than he ever really wanted to know, more than he’s sure Louis wants to hear. 

Even though he gets to have him in private, in ways that no one else does, it isn’t enough. He could have Louis for the rest of his life and it wouldn’t be enough. Harry needs the security of a relationship and love and everything Louis is too terrified to give him. 

So, he’s going to provide an ultimatum. They’ve got two weeks break coming up in a few days, and it’s the perfect time for Louis to think about his offer. Harry would never force him into anything, but he’s got to _try_ . For once, this is something _he_ needs, not Louis. 

Either he’ll decide to give Harry a chance to prove to him that he’s worthy enough to properly court him - dates, flowers, coming out to their friends, everything that comes with a relationship - or he’ll laugh in his face and walk away for good. 

As much as Harry tries to be optimistic, he doesn’t see this going very well. He tries to accept it beforehand so it won’t hurt as badly when it happens, but it’s no use. His fingernails are bitten down to the skin in an anxious blur as he waits. 

Though he’d been prepared for it, Harry still tenses up when Louis comes crashing through the door of their shared hotel room, swallowing over the lump in his throat dryly. 

“Hey, why’ve you- Harry? What’s the matter?” 

Louis throws his things down on their bed and rushes over to him, small hands on either side of his face as he settles in Harry’s lap. Harry shuts his eyes so he won’t see how upset he is. 

“Hazza, what’s wrong?” He whispers. 

For a moment, he allows himself to bask in his concern. Puts his hands on Louis’ hips and lets himself be taken care of like he usually does for Louis, gentle hands running through his hair and soothing kisses on his cheeks and forehead. He gets lost in the familiar smell of Louis’ body wash and the fact that he’s in another one of Harry’s shirts, and gets swept away in the idea that Louis might _actually_ feel the same way. 

And then he remembers. 

“We need to talk,” he says. 

It’s probably not the right thing to say because Louis retracts his hands after he does, drawing in on himself and looking unsure on his lap, but he doesn’t try to get up. Harry doesn’t think he’d be able to keep going if he had. 

“What is it?” 

Louis is notoriously defensive, so Harry’d planned to approach the subject gently. Instead, he’s already made him upset. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he rasps, eyes watering again as his grip on Louis tightens, “I need - I need more.” 

“What are you talking about, Harry? I thought,” he pauses, his own voice beginning to break, “I thought you were happy with - with us?” 

Harry watches his chest move up and down faster and his eyebrows furrow, his lip jutted out and eyes sad. 

“I am, Louis. That’s the problem,” he laughs wetly. “I’m _so_ happy with you that I don’t know what to do. I need more, and I can’t - it kills me every time you say that we’re friends because I need more than that.”

Louis’ face doesn’t change, so Harry tries to keep explaining. 

“I know you don’t like relationships, and the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. But I can’t do it anymore, Lou. I can’t be okay with not having all of you.” 

Silence. Then - 

“What are you saying?” 

Harry inhales. 

“I’m saying that- that I,” he swallows thickly, “I love taking care of you more than anything in the world, Louis. These past few months have been the best of my life.”

He smiles, jolting when he feels a cold teardrop land on his chest. 

“But you know how you needed certain things from me?” Harry whispers. 

Louis nods slowly. 

“This is just something that I need. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what we talked about. You shouldn’t have to choose, but,” Harry blinks, giving up, “I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t keep pretending.” 

And then he’s crying. So hard that his vision goes blurry, so much that Louis pulls back from him. Nothing is fair, he thinks. Because if it was, Louis would have told him he loved him, too. They would’ve been together a long time ago somewhere in an alternate universe where they didn’t have to hide and Louis was never scared. 

That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Louis is scared. He’s always been scared. 

When he’s with Harry it doesn’t show as much, but it doesn’t mean it's not there. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t keep Louis up at night when Harry’s sleeping peacefully next to him, arms wrapped around him from behind. 

As badly as he wants to fix him, he can’t. 

Harry is open and confident and admits when he needs help - it’s what he’s doing right now. But Louis doesn’t know how to do that, and probably doesn’t know what to do with someone who does. 

Opposites attract, Harry remembers hearing. Either he and Louis have a little too much in common or they’re so opposite that it renders the overused line untrue. They are the exception to every rule, apparently, because each time Harry thinks things are finally going to be okay for them, they aren’t again. 

Louis’ been relying on him to fill in all of his missing pieces, and he has. Or he’s done his best, anyway. If Louis can’t recognize that this is Harry asking for the same in return, Harry may have to rethink if he was meant to be with him in the first place. 

He keeps sobbing long enough that he misses Louis sliding off of his lap and picking up his things, doesn’t even hear it when the door clicks shut behind him on his way out. Doesn’t think Louis hears him when he whispers one last quiet, broken, _don’t leave me_ into the deafening silence of the empty hotel room. 

+

Harry makes it to Cheshire late on the following Saturday, after a few more grueling days on tour. When he’d left the hotel room that morning all of Louis’ things had still been lying around, his shirt across the sofa, his jeans a heap on the floor, days old boxes of takeout on the counter with used coffee mugs. He hadn’t returned since the night Harry told him he loved him. 

Sometimes, the closest Harry ever feels to home is Louis. Is their shared hotel rooms on tour, their shoes toed off in the doorway next to each other, jackets hung on the same post. It’s all of the things Harry notices only when they’ve been taken away from him, like the past few days. 

Seeing his mother does wonders for him, but even she isn’t able to take the pain away completely. Distraction is the key, he thinks, because when she tells him stories from work and describes Gemma’s new flat it makes him forget and, for a few minutes, he’s happy. 

He doesn’t have any existential conversations with her, and they don’t talk about Louis except for when she asks how he’s doing along with the others. He can’t really, because his voice goes too thick and his eyes too blurry to continue if he tried. 

It’s when he’s alone that it comes back full force, when he tosses and turns thinking about everything he should’ve said, everything he shouldn’t have. None of it does him any good, really, just keeps him up all night and makes his mum worry about the darkness underneath his eyes. 

Gemma gets there the day afterward, bright and familiar and Harry hugs her for a good five minutes before letting go. That night, when they’re alone, he tells Gemma everything. 

Well, everything minus the explicit details. More about his feelings and less about their arrangement. He talks for hours, he’s sure, rambling about how sad he’s been recently and how pathetically in love he is with Louis. 

And he feels marginally better, but then something else happens - he gets angry. 

Harry rarely gets angry. He’d much prefer to approach everything optimistically than to assume that the glass is always half-empty. 

Now, though, the anger runs through his veins thickly, hitting him all at once as he lays down in bed. 

There’s never been a time when Harry hasn’t been there for Louis. Even when their roles were practically reversed a few years ago, he’d just been there for him in different ways, but he’d never left him alone. 

And Louis can’t give him one thing in return? Surely Harry isn’t as unloveable as he feels at the moment. As much as _Louis_ made him feel. 

They’ve performed in front of millions. Thousands of arenas packed with screaming fans, chanting each of their names hoping for a split second of their attention. Harry’s seen fan pages and the things people trend online, how much they adore him and his voice. Every time he steps onto a different stage, he doesn’t doubt himself for a second. 

When it comes to Louis, it’s all he seems to do. Louis could tell him that he’s the worst singer in the world and he’d believe it, probably. 

Harry doesn’t think it’s unreasonable. Louis’ got more baggage than someone his age should, but Harry tries to help him carry it and he declines. And he knows it’s not that simple to share trauma with someone who he wants to think of him as perfect, but it’s been years now. Has he not yet proved himself? 

He’s passed every test Louis’ put him through a thousand times over. He’s changed parts of himself that he said he never would just because Louis may or may not like him more that way. 

None of it’s healthy, he knows. They’re entirely too codependent. But now, he can’t reverse all of it. He’s in too deep, has seen too much to turn around now. 

Which makes everything else so much worse, because if Louis says no, that he wants no part of Harry’s love when he gets back, which Harry is fairly certain he’s going to do, he’s going to have to try to move on. 

The thought makes him sad, but then angry all over again because he shouldn’t _have_ to get over him. They should be together, in this lifetime and every one afterward, like Harry’s been so sure of for years. 

It’s just - it’s unfair. It’s so unfair that irritated tears blur the corners of his vision as he frowns and blinks harshly up at the ceiling in his childhood bedroom. Harry’s pretty sure he’s been in this exact spot many years before, only twelve or so, pouting about a girl he liked going out with someone else. 

He blinks harder. The parallel is striking, and he feels foolish for his younger self getting upset about something so trivial. This, now, is something he feels like he’s allowed to be upset over. 

But then he thinks of Louis, back at his own home in Doncaster, with no mother and endless responsibilities and the weight of the world on his shoulders, and feels even worse. 

There isn’t anything he can do. Louis isn’t talking to him and as much as he wishes he was, Harry won’t push him. He can have the two weeks to decide and that’ll be that - Louis has all of the power once again. 

Harry scoffs at the ceiling. He’s thought about it before but it still makes him shake his head at the irony. 

Louis’ been under the impression that, this entire time, Harry’s been in control. Pushing him around and telling him what to do, confident in all of the ways Louis is not. 

Instead, he’s been at Louis’ mercy this whole time. Caved into his every wish and whim, never once questioned him on the journey. When they’d first discussed it, Harry didn’t hesitate. 

It’s always that way with Louis, really. Harry doesn’t have to think about it or weigh out the pros and cons. It’s all a no-brainer with him, and he’s never regretted that before. 

He always thinks about situations in terms of _them_ instead of himself. _How is it going to affect Louis? What would Louis think, what would he do?_

So he goes to bed angry like he’s heard he shouldn’t, picturing Louis lying across the sheets even though he’s miles away. 

If he needs more than two weeks to think about Harry’s request, maybe that will be answer enough. Maybe it’ll be the push Harry needs to start thinking of himself and his own needs instead of just Louis’. 

He’ll start tomorrow, he decides, because tonight he can’t seem to get the image of Louis on his knees for him out of his head, sleep-soft and wonderful and wanting Harry back. He falls asleep as soon as he gives in. 

+

The thirteen days that follow are fine. They aren’t good or bad or anything at all, if he’s being honest. Harry wanders around his old house without much purpose, listening to Gemma’s stories from work and watching reruns on the television with his mum while he savors the homemade meals and familiar atmosphere. 

To his surprise, Louis never comes up again. Gemma doesn’t mention it, only glances at him periodically when he’s been quiet for too long. He’s got nothing left to say about it anyway. 

That’s probably why his mind is so blank, he figures. There _is_ nothing left for him to do but wait. Still, he leaves his phone on silent and plugged in next to his bed all day so he isn’t tempted to check it compulsively. 

Today is his last day at home. Tomorrow they’ll all have to resume the tour where they left off and he’ll have to see Louis again. Always a few feet away but never close enough to touch. 

He’s thrown back to before, when Louis was just a fantasy in his head. Harry goes back and forth between being angry with himself for causing the separation, and anger with Louis for not giving him a chance. He doesn’t ever land on a conclusion. 

His suitcase is packed the night before since he’s got an early flight. Harry tosses and turns for most of the night before he makes his way down the hallway and into Gemma’s old bedroom. 

“Gem?” He whispers through the crack in the door. 

She sits up sleepily, rubbing her eye as she squints at Harry. 

“H,” She rasps, “what’s up?” 

He falls asleep to her fingernails scratching over his scalp, curled up in the fetal position in an old pajama set. 

The only reason he doesn’t miss his flight completely is because his mum comes in and tells him his alarm has been going off from his room. He eats breakfast with them one last time, hugs them extra tightly goodbye, and then heads for the airport. 

Usually Harry looks forward to their breaks. Mostly because he spends them with Louis. This time, when he boards the plane, he leaves feeling unfulfilled. Disappointed, but not surprised. He’s done this to himself, after all. If he was just a bit less sentimental and romantic, he’d probably be stowed away in another shared hotel room kissing Louis until he was breathless. 

Instead of doing that, he’s glaring moodily out of the window seat, counting the minutes until he lands. His stomach feels sour with nerves the closer they get to landing, to Louis. Before they take off he pulls out his phone to double check his empty notifications. 

Maybe if he’d held on just a little longer things would’ve worked out better. There’s still so much he wants to explore with him. Ideas running around in his head, inspiration striking him at the worst times. If he’d waited longer to tell Louis, maybe he would have convinced him in time. 

He tries not to focus too much on the hypotheticals. 

When he pulls up at the hotel later after picking up his luggage, Niall and Liam greet him. Against his better judgement, Harry has to ask. 

“Where’s Louis?” 

Looking up from his phone, Liam shrugs. 

“We haven’t seen him yet,” Niall says, “Sorry, mate.” 

Harry hates that they actually look disappointed _for_ him. 

“Here’s your key, man,” Liam hands it to him before heading toward the lift with his own bags, Niall close behind. 

They hold the doors open for him, but Harry takes his time dragging his suitcase across the linoleum. He’s pouting, probably picked that up from spending too much time with Louis, but he doesn’t care. 

More than anything he hates that he’s still concerned. Still thinking about why Louis isn’t here yet and if he’s okay. For a second, Harry even considers going to _apologize_. 

Then he shakes his head resolutely. He isn’t going to apologize for loving him. That would be ridiculous. 

So he leaves the others to get settled in as he unlocks his own door with the key card and pushes it open with his shoulder. It’s barely noon, but Harry feels almost as tired as he had the night before he left. 

He wakes up relatively quickly. 

Setting his bags down next to the door, Harry hangs his head as he knuckles over his eye and discards his jacket on the back of the sofa on his way to the bed. He’s too busy memorizing the intricate pattern of the carpet to notice the dirty vans standing in front of him. 

Harry’s eyes snap up to Louis’ face in record time with a gasp. Brows furrowed, Harry regards him warily as if he might yell or try to hit him or something. 

“Hi,” Louis says. 

His hands are locked behind his back like he’s unsure of what to do with them. Lips pursed, he struggles for something to say the longer Harry stares. 

“Uhm, I think I should apologize,” he starts. “I shouldn’t have left you there - after. I was just surprised, because, uhm, I wasn’t expecting you to - yeah.” 

He’s a mess. Louis stutters and gestures helplessly in front of him but Harry can’t even blame him. He’d be doing the same thing if he were to open his mouth. Plus, Louis never confronts his struggles head on. Harry feels like he’s witnessing something monumental. 

“I talked to Lottie a lot when I went home. She called me an idiot,” he gives a small smile toward the ground, “said I should just let myself be happy for once without overthinking everything.” 

And, _holy shit_ , Harry thinks. Is this - is this Louis saying _yes_? 

Outwardly he keeps his face blank. He can’t afford to get his hopes up again if Louis backs out like every other time they’ve come close. 

“She made me realize that I - I’m always happiest when I’m with you,” he says, flushing, “I’m tired of being scared, Harry.” 

Still, he lets Louis come to him. He does, slowly, moving hesitantly to stand directly in front of him. Wringing his hands nervously, Louis clears his throat. 

“So, if the offer still stands, I’d like - I’d like to take you up on it.” 

_Yes_ , he means. He’s telling Harry _yes_. 

“Do you understand what I’m asking, Louis?” 

His eyes flick up to Harry’s when he speaks, breaking the heavy silence. He nods. 

“This won’t be like before,” Harry clarifies, “it’ll be more than that. It’ll be proper dates and titles and all of that. I’m going to want you more than just in private.” 

A year ago, he would’ve felt foolish saying those things out loud. He’d have been afraid Louis would laugh or make fun of him, hurt his pride even more. Now, Louis seems very serious as he holds his gaze. 

“I understand,” he murmurs. 

Small hands come up to rest on Harry’s shoulders and he can’t wait anymore. Cradling Louis’ face in his palms, Harry nudges their noses together before he kisses him. 

“Missed you,” Louis breathes. 

He clings to Harry like he has a hundred other times before now, letting himself be walked backward toward the bed. Everything is similar to the first time they’d done this when they were both exhausted, but this time it feels more vivid. 

Louis is completely relaxed in his hands, pressing himself as close as he can get. His neck is bent upward at an awkward angle to keep their mouths pressed firmly together. Smiling, Harry massages his shoulders before pushing him back to lie down. 

Thighs parting open for Harry to crawl between them, Louis bites his lip to hide his grin. Harry kisses his thighs and puts his hands under his knees to keep him that way. The further up his kisses go, the more Louis giggles at the sensitivity, squealing when Harry runs his fingertips lightly over his skin to watch him squirm. 

He sits up on his knees to pull off his own shirt and trousers, then drags Louis’ down as well. Just as he’s wetting his fingers to open him up, Louis grabs his wrist. 

“You don’t have to - uhm, I already…” he gestures. 

“You opened yourself up for me?” 

Blushing, Louis nods. 

“Oh, baby,” Harry groans. “C’mere.” 

Keening at the pet name, Louis kisses him hard and messily while he grabs at Harry’s arms on either side of his head. Within a few seconds, he’s sitting up on Harry’s lap after he’s flipped them. 

“Wanna do it like this, yeah?” He moves some hair off of Louis’ forehead, kissing it sweetly. “Want to hold you.” 

Even sitting on top of his lap, Louis is shorter than him. He comes to Harry’s eyebrows at most. Wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders, he smiles. Another _yes_. 

It doesn’t take much to get inside of him, not after he’s done the preparation beforehand. Regardless, Harry reaches over to grab the lube Louis had laid out for them and drizzles it over his hole accommodatingly. 

Louis shivers and curls into him as his back arches, Harry’s big hands rubbing over the smooth skin and spreading him open even more. He throws the lube down beside them and pulls Louis’ hips up to hover above him. 

Placing one last kiss to his shoulder blade, he lets Louis sink down slowly until he’s fully seated on his lap again. They both groan. 

Harry loves being close with Louis no matter what they do. He’d loved it the first time they were together, the time after when he took him from behind, and then all the times after that too. But this particular position is new for them and he’s got to clench his jaw to focus on not coming right this second. 

He’s so much deeper now. Bringing a hand back from where it’d been clutching Louis’ hip, he rubs it over his lower stomach to see if he can feel himself. 

Louis must understand, mouth falling open when Harry’s fingers push down over the barely-there bump of Harry’s cock from the outside. 

It’s like the words come tumbling out of him suddenly and he can’t stop, mouth pressed to the skin underneath his ear as he shifts up into his body. 

“Do you feel me in there, little one?” Harry asks. 

He keeps his hand there as he brings his legs up behind Louis’ back, planting his feet flat so he can fuck into him like they both need. Every few seconds, he feels the pressure come back before it disappears again, curving his careful thrusts so they hit where they’re looking down at his tummy. 

“Gonna give this to you forever,” he promises, “taking me so well, Louis. Do you see the way we fit together? See how I move inside of you?” 

Honestly, he isn’t even trying to talk dirty. The shock from earlier still hasn’t completely worn off yet, and everything he’s saying is simple observation. He _is_ going to give this to Louis forever, and they fit so amazingly that he can’t _not_ point it out. 

Already Louis is a mess, little fists pressed into Harry’s pec as he’s jostled around from his thrusts. He’s mouthing at his chest, sucking on his collarbone to keep himself tethered. 

Harry’s arms tighten around Louis as he abandons watching his tummy, burying his face into Louis’ neck and readjusting the angle. 

“Oh,” Louis wails, jolting in his lap. 

“My love,” Harry coos. 

Purposefully ignoring Louis’ prostate, Harry smirks when he whines petulantly. 

“Shh,” he appeases, “M’gonna take care of you.” 

Louis’ earlobe caught between his teeth, he avoids the spot for another few minutes as he gets closer. 

“I remember the first time I got to have you like this. Got to watch you come for me in the bathroom of the club.” 

Louis sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out against his chest, uneven, quiet sobs spilling from his bitten lips. 

“Can’t believe it took us so long,” Harry huffs out a laugh, choking off into a moan when Louis grinds down onto him. 

He unravels his tight hold to grab Louis by the hips again, holding him down harshly and grinding up into him in circles. Harry positions him a couple different ways until he cries out again, and then keeps his attention there. 

He’s overwhelmed and unfocused, but Louis holds his gaze when harry cups his cheeks again, pulling him away to press their foreheads together. 

“I’m not letting you go now,” he says seriously, “Gonna keep you forever.” 

Yelping at the now constant pressure on his prostate, he blinks hazily. 

“Yours,” Louis whimpers. 

“Mine,” Harry agrees, leaning forward to press their lips together. 

Sharp nails dig into Harry’s upper arms and he takes Louis’ air right from his mouth as he pants. Harry pushes on his back again so they’re flush together and his cock rubs up against Harry’s abdomen. 

He puts the other hand back where it’d been earlier, right over where Harry’s own prick pushes against the inside of Louis’ stomach. Squeezing his eyes shut, Louis works himself back and forth between the two as he revels in the feeling. 

Suddenly, he clenches hard around Harry as he comes between them. Eyebrows rising high, Harry’s eyes flutter as he pushes deep inside of him and comes, too. 

They’re both shaking a bit when they come down. Rising up onto his knees, he presses another kiss to the top of his head before dumping him onto his back and crawling between his open legs again. 

“Harry? What’re you - _oh_.” 

Using his hands to spread him apart, Harry puts his mouth over Louis’ hole and sucks hard. Again, this is something he imagines he’d only ever be okay with doing when it’s Louis. 

Above him, Louis thrashes wildly from the overstimulation, alternating between bucking his hips up for more or trying to shy away from his eager mouth. Harry gives him a hand to hold onto. 

He revels in the way Louis’ legs rest on top of his shoulders, his muscles flexing as he gets close again. Pulling back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Harry gets his attention. 

“Can you come for me again, baby? One more time?” 

“Yeah, yeah - can,” Louis babbles, fingers curled up inside of Harry’s bigger fist. 

There’s a determined angle to his brow, his mouth open a bit like he’s concentrating. 

“Good boy,” Harry tells him. 

The taste of them together sits heavy on his tongue when he dives back in, lathering over all of his exposed skin and sucking hard around where he’s just been fucked open thoroughly. He could probably finger him until he comes again, but Harry’s curious to see if he can use only his mouth. Besides, Louis is still gripping his fingers too tightly to let go. 

Pointing it to get a better angle, Harry pushes it in and out quickly until Louis convulses on the bed. He holds him down and pushes in more forcefully. 

“H-Harry,” he says, breathless. 

Using his teeth to lightly nip at his rim, Harry holds him through his second orgasm. He shakes again and tosses side to side, back arching and then collapsing. 

Harry flops down beside him on the bed, pulling him into his arms. They’re upside down now, with their heads at the foot of the bed, but he feels so good he can’t be bothered to flip them around. 

“I love you,” Louis whispers. 

Hearing those words from his mouth feels too good to be true. He looks over at Louis to make sure he isn’t a figment of his imagination and then laughs happily. 

“What?” He prompts, “Why are you laughing?” 

Harry sombers but keeps the big grin on his face, his face hovering over Louis’. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers back, “One day I’m going to tell everyone how much I love you.” 

Louis giggles as Harry plants kisses all around his flushed face, relaxing under his hands. 

This time they do manage to make it to the bath, but they don’t come out for another hour or two. When the water is dirty again, Harry stands him up and showers them off quickly, and then tucks him back into bed. 

Harry dreams of the future, a small smile pressed into the back of Louis’ neck as their breathing syncs. 

+

They’re in Detroit the first time it happens. A year and a half later, they’re on another world tour for their newest album. 

Louis is skipping around the stage full of energy as usual, smiling brightly as he teases Niall and pours water over Liam’s back when he isn’t paying attention. The audience is enamored by him and Harry is too. 

He’s openly staring from where he’s sitting on one of the stage props, taking a break between songs to sip on his water. 

Last night, in their hotel room, he’d made love to Louis for hours. Harry has to fight off the smirk as he watches him limp subtly back to Niall and hears the way his voice is raspy when he speaks into the mic from screaming. 

Their friends had made fun of them like they always do now, but they’d been ignored. These days, it seems like nothing fazes them. Without all of the uncertainty of the last tour and after an entire summer to work out the details in a flat of their own, they’re doing amazing. 

“I’m going to kill you, Louis,” Liam threatens, still dripping with water. 

“You’ve got to catch me first!” 

“I am not chasing you, Louis,” he groans. 

From behind Niall, Louis shouts, “Not with those boots weighing you down, you’re not.” 

The audience snickers. Louis’ been making fun of his shoes for weeks now. They’re the same ones Niall got at the mall last year, but on Liam they look admittedly bigger and clunkier than on Niall. 

Liam smirks at him sarcastically, then flips him off. 

“C’mon, Harry, help me out. How do they really look?” He says. 

With everyone’s eyes on him, Harry takes in the twirl Liam gives him and then meets Louis’ gaze with a shrug. 

“I’ve gotta go with Louis on this one, mate,” he chuckles. 

Across the stage, Louis shouts a triumphant _aha!_ into his mic before trotting over to where he’s sitting. 

He leans down and hugs Harry’s shoulders from behind, kissing his cheek. 

“Love you, Hazza,” he says bravely into the microphone. 

Harry flips around to remind him that it’s on, but it seems he’d done it on purpose. Louis is smiling when they make eye contact. 

“Love you, too,” Harry says back. 

And it’s just one moment on stage, just another time they’d all been banting for entertainment, but Harry feels like they’re on a movie screen. He doesn’t hear the audience anymore for a few seconds, even when Louis grins and goes to apologize to Liam before the next song starts. 

It’s enough. It’s more than enough and he has to shake himself out of the smitten haze when his solo approaches so he doesn’t miss it thinking about Louis again. 

His eyes catch Harry’s every few seconds for the rest of the show, and he hugs him tightly as soon as they step off stage to head back to the hotel. 

“What’s up with you tonight?” Harry asks, rubbing circles on his arm in the back of the car. 

Louis just shrugs, settling further into him. 

“Another one down,” Niall cheers. 

“Niall and I are headed for a drink. You guys coming?” Liam turns to face them. 

Glancing down at Louis, Harry raises his eyebrows. 

“No, we’ll just stay here,” he says. 

The others fake-gag at them as Louis cranes his neck up to kiss him, sighing happily. 

At their last meeting, they’d talked about taking a break for a few years after tour. He’d been against the idea at first, but the longer Harry thinks about it the more he looks forward to waking up next to Louis every day without having to hide. 

It sounds so appealing that he grabs Louis’ hand to link their fingers together when they part, his arms locked around him all the way up to their room. 

“Are we going back to your mum’s for break?” Louis asks. 

“Uhm, yeah,” Harry chuckles, “if you want. What brought that up?” 

Stripping down to his boxers, Louis climbs into bed and beckons him over. 

“I’m not sure. It was really nice last time, s’all.” 

Harry kisses his forehead, “Of course we can, then.” 

He pulls him back into his chest and relaxes, stroking his fingers through his hair comfortingly. 

“Do you want to shower?” 

“In a few minutes,” Louis mumbles, pushing his head further into Harry’s hands. 

With him facing away, Harry has the perfect view of their entwined hands. He smiles at the only empty finger on his own hand and places it next to Louis’ _28_. The promise ring he’d picked out with both Gemma and Lottie practically burns a hole in his pocket, but he figures he can wait for the right moment. 

Tonight, Louis told him he loved him on stage in front of millions of people. Harry hopes someday they’ll get to say it in the way they want to, loudly and clearly for everyone to see. 

For now, this is enough. 


End file.
